


Funny Games

by ThisisVenereVeritas



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alcohol, Drugs, Gender Issues, M/M, Trans Character, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-09
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-02-08 05:14:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 25
Words: 161,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1927938
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThisisVenereVeritas/pseuds/ThisisVenereVeritas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The path to adulthood is littered with traps and trickery that make life nearly unbearable. With each action is a consequence that worsens your chance of accomplishing the true goal. Doflamingo thought there was a way out of it, that he was immune to any surprises life tried to throw at him. But then someone he cared for threw a real curve-ball. A story about two boys risking the game called life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Memory of the First Meeting

- **Part 1** -

**-Then-**

Before the lust and insanity there was something that resembled innocence. It could have never been called real childlike innocence because by the time Doflamingo and Crocodile met one another each had been tainted by cruel reality. Of course at his age Doflamingo wasn't aware of what made him so awful and cruel compared to the others in his classes. He was only about five at the time, when he met Crocodile, and when he learned about the games called living. If memory served correct then Crocodile had been aware of his dysphoria for several years, bringing him ahead of Doflamingo in this area by a whopping five years. Perhaps even more embarrassing to admit, Crocodile was the one to point out the distorted reality that Doflamingo willingly partaking in, not that Crocodile ever meant it. No, correction; they both performed actions that would lead to that series of horrifically unfortunate events.

Almost everything about Crocodile that evening was false. All but the smile on his face when Doflamingo asked about the treasure was a result of Crocodile staring at the mirror in his earlier stages of life and attempting to mimic what he considered to be his sense of "real." Doflamingo would discover many years later that this "real" would ultimately contradict the world he had intimately created with his close friend. This wasn't to say he was any better: Doflamingo knew his life was just as real as a plastic was natural.

On the evening he met Crocodile Doflamingo had become semi-aware of his mediocre existence. The bourgeois lifestyle provided by his well-to-do family had done nothing but entrap him in a state of nasty fanciness and nauseous over-security. With the promise of a private school and life of law and order ahead of him Doflamingo had suddenly felt the need to escape the future painstakingly planned for him and chose to run away.

With nothing but the clothes on his back Doflamingo left his home. He had no real plan other than to find a new place to call his, but Doflamingo didn't really know what life was like outside the gated community, and was shocked to see what life was out of the the tinted car windows. After running past the rows of trees that hid upper-class community Doflamingo was welcomed into the middle and lower class life. The sun was setting on busy street and the dry summer air was making everyone less than friendly. No one seemed to notice the small child who stood in shock at the smell of musty air, the sight of filthy pavement and all around lack of greenery. But even as he was ignored Doflamingo took a great interest in the strange new world he had entered into. Outside of the daycares, the parties, and the company planning events he had never seen so many people, and in so may different shades of color and attire. He continued straight and past by many onlookers who showed hardly an interest in the lost child, Doflamingo's grin confusing all who did spot him.

Eventually the child made it into a quiet neighborhood, by then the sky was a mild purple-orange. The air was still hot and dry but every so often a cool breeze would run between his bare legs and cause him to shiver, his nose tingling with new foreign scents. Doflamingo could not remember why he chose to rest here in particular, but he had indeed stopped and finally took a good look at the unusual surroundings. It was here that the most spectacular thing happened. While Doflamingo came to his abrupt stop and began to look around his eyes landed on a figure across the street, nursing on a can of New Coke, dragging a worn out backpack, and staring right back at him with a bored expression. It was the first child he had seen free outside since he had left his gated home, and the appearance of someone close to his age made Doflamingo happy since he knew by this point it was only the adults that brought misery. And because he had been raised in a sheltered community, Doflamingo knew nothing about "stranger danger" and, without looking both ways, crossed the street and met up with the older child.

Even at such a young age Crocodile appeared somewhat jaded compared to the rest of the children Doflamingo was acquainted with. Doflamingo didn't know about the five years of fighting, a year of misery, and mistook the child's lidded stare as fatigue from a long day.

"Hi," it was no surprise that Doflamingo was the one to make the first move, not so much that Doflamingo had a very open personality, but the boy in front of him disdainfully could have cared less to. He stared up at the older youth with a wide grin. "Who're you?"

The can was lowered from the dismissive face. He could see the entirety of the boy's person, and as soon Doflamingo could make out the roundness of the shape, the pale, smooth skin and lips he immediately looked away, focusing his gaze instead on dirty red Converse, then on the backpack.

"What's that?" Doflamingo asked, pointing at the object that was left lying on the sidewalk.

"Hmmm." It wasn't a question. It wasn't curiosity. It was observation.

"Huh?" Doflamingo said.

"You're lost." And this was a statement.

"What?" He asked, looking right back up.

"I've never seen you before. You look funny. You don't look like you belong here."

"Doesn't mean I'm lost," Doflamingo said, his grin fading just a little.

"You're dressed strange," the boy said. The frown on the boy's face appeared cemented on. Doflamingo disliked it, thinking the child more attractive when he was wearing the bored, tired looking mask.

"So are you," he replied back playfully, not letting the older boy's words get the better of him. He tilted to the side and peered over at the backpack. "Do you have school?" he asked.

"No, it's summer," the boy answered. "School doesn't start till September."

At that moment all Doflamingo could think about was that it was the middle of July, and according to a really catchy song, after July came August, and then after that September. "I have to start school soon," Doflamingo said, his voice dropping. "I don't want to go."

"You sound like a baby…"

"I turn six in October!" Doflamingo proclaimed.

"Great, a five year old," the boy muttered. He rolled his eyes and grabbed his backpack, slinging it over his small shoulders.

"Where are you going?" Doflamingo asked.

"It's private. Go back home."

"I can't," he said. He walked in front of the boy and pointed in the direction that he had run from. "The people there are dumb so I'm never going back home. I'm running away to a better place that isn't so bad!"

"You're running away?" the boy asked.

"Uh-huh," he answered. "Everything there is so…different. It's hard to explain. Nothing back home looks like… _this_." Doflamingo had raised his arms and waved them in emphasis, hoping the older boy would understand him. "It doesn't feel right. I can't stay there anymore."

"Cool. So I was right," the boy said. "You're lost."

"I'm not afraid of getting lost," Doflamingo said, which was very true. In fact, the idea that he was lost could only be viewed as a huge positive. If nobody at home could find him then he would be better off.

"You're going to starve and die," the boy said. He took a sip from the can and smirked. "You'll get lost in the desert and get eaten by coyotes."

"Will not," Doflamingo said.

"I saw one chase a rabbit once," the boy went on, taking pleasure from Doflamingo's growing frustration. "It caught the rabbit and the rabbit screamed! There was a lot of blood."

"If a coyote comes at me then I'll fight it."

"Do you think you'll win against a coyote?" the boy asked, still smirking at Doflamingo.

"I think I can kill it."

"Really?"

"Yeah," Doflamingo said.

"Alright then, lets go," he said.

"Go where?" Doflamingo asked.

"The desert!" the boy answered. "I need to do stuff there anyways. Maybe there will be a coyote."

Strangely enough, this didn't at all worry Doflamingo. In fact he was feeling rather confident about himself and his need to impress the older child.

"Ok," he said.

The boy grinned at him, exposing a rare sight that Doflamingo would later grow to crave. For now the boy was content with just smiling back.

"Follow me," the boy said. His hand held tightly to the strap of the backpack as he walked past the boy. Doflamingo scampered behind him, his focus growing on the cluttering sounds coming from within it.

"So what's in your backpack?" he asked.

"Stuff," the boy answered.

"What kind of stuff?"

"None of your business." The boy leered over and watched Doflamingo with suspicion.

"I promise not to tell," Doflamingo said. He fastened his pace in order to match up with the older boy. He peered up at the boy and attempted his most honest, innocent looking smile he could muster.

"Promise?" The boy repeated.

"I'll never tell anyone," Doflamingo said.

Doflamingo would eventually know this day as the day where he would get to see just about every rare, impossible act performed by Crocodile, one of them being the breaking of his very personal mantra to never, ever trust anyone. Crocodile must have known then and there that Doflamingo wasn't just an ordinary boy that was passing by. He must have somehow foreseen that he would visit this neighborhood again, many times, for years to come. Or maybe he was just over thinking the simple thought process of an eight-year-old child.

"Fine, but if you tell I'll get very angry."

"I'll keep it a secret forever."

He stared at Doflamingo warningly, waiting for the younger boy to change his mind from the threatening glare. When that didn't work he finally gave in and answered:

"It's treasure."

"Oooh, what kind?" Doflamingo asked enthusiastically. His brightened expression and eagerness had surprised the older child. But behind those shocked eyes Doflamingo would see, remember something rather special. It was something that he wouldn't ever be accustomed to seeing from Crocodile, or from anyone that he would come to be acquainted with later in life. And being that it was so genuine, so real, only would make the rest of the summers they shared together seem so meaningless compared to this moment.

"Coins. Money." _Happiness._

"What are you going to do with it?" Doflamingo asked. His interest in Crocodile's personal life continued to shatter the walls that the boy had built for himself. But he didn't seem to care, only smiling back at Doflamingo's innocent questions.

"That's a bigger secret." _You cannot buy happiness._

"Why wont you tell me?"

"You wouldn't understand." Doflamingo took it as an insult to his age. But there was little he could do. He submitted to the boy's whims and instead tried to change the subject.

"I'm thirsty," he said. Nearly three hours in hot summer heat had actually taken its toll on the boy long ago. Parts of his face and legs had suffered mild burns, and although Doflamingo wasn't quite aware of how severe his thirst really was, he was in fact dehydrated and in great need of liquids. But to Doflamingo he was just thirsty.

"You ran away from home without any food or clothes," the boy said. "It's going to be super hot tomorrow. You're so stupid."

"Am not," Doflamingo said. The boy stopped and handed him the can of Coke. Doflamingo took the sticky can in his hands and felt the lukewarm liquid swirling inside. He took a sip of the flat soda was welcomed with the wonderful taste of high fructose corn syrup. He licked his sweetened lips and smiled at the boy.

"Are you going to bury your treasure?" he asked.

He smiled back. "Yeah."

"Cool. Buried treasure." Doflamingo took another sip and licked his lips. "I'm hungry."

"I have a Twinkie," the boy said. Doflamingo noticed the sudden lack of hurtful comments and felt his smile grow when he came to realize that the boy that made him feel so strange was just being nice to him now. He took the snack and, having never tried cheap Hostess products before, took great delight in tasting the high fat, low nutrient treat. Once finished he wiped the stray oils that were sticking to his fingers all over his clothes. The boy patiently waited, exposing the usual tired expression Doflamingo had been greeted to before.

"How old are you?" Doflamingo suddenly asked.

"Eight," the boy answered. He was practically an adult in the younger boy's eyes.

"What's school like?"

The boy frowned. "Nobody listens," he answered. "Everyone, especially the teacher, is a retard." The last word was spat out in disgust. Doflamingo could see the same frustration he felt on the boy's face. It felt good knowing he wasn't the only person to feel this way, but seeing the boy's twisted expression made him uncomfortable, so he changed the subject once again.

"What's your name?" he asked. The question the boy had neglected to answer earlier was being asked again, and now Doflamingo needed to know the answer.

"My name?" Doflamingo could see the boy grow nervous. Crocodile hated surprises, almost as much as he hated placing trust in another human.

"Tell me your name first," the boy said. "And then, I'll tell you mine."

The first game they played together.

* * *

He followed the boy, can at hand, taking notice of the ever-changing scenery. With the sun setting lower it was becoming harder to take everything in, but somehow he managed to see that the trees were becoming sparse with every street they crossed, the roads dustier with sand and gravel, and dried bushes and small hills replacing homes. He wasn't sure how he had missed it, but suddenly Doflamingo and Crocodile had literally hit the end of the road. The neighborhood that had been so lush before was gone and now looked like it was about be eaten alive by giant rocks, hills made of sand, and gravel. Doflamingo remembered passing by the "Danger: Do Not Cross" sign, almost eager to see what lay behind the miniature mountain. He also remembered smiling, and he remembered Crocodile smiling as well. He let his hands sink into warm sand, using all fours to make his way up the mounds, and felt bits of things finding their way underneath his nails. He slipped a few times and his clothes were ruined with dirt. The can of Coke fell out of his hand and had splashed all over the place, some of it hitting Doflamingo's leg. He ignored it only because Crocodile told him to, and by now had grown somewhat impatient that he let himself slide down the large mound to help Doflamingo the rest of the way.

He remembered how small his hands were. Caked with dirt, with nails chipped and grimy, but somehow still soft, almost perfect. That small hand, gone several years later, had a thin scar running down the palm. He'd let his fingers roll down the line so many times. This was the first time he would hold his hand. Doflamingo grabbed tight to Crocodile and was pulled the rest of the way up.

The scenery was new. He imagined a desert to be flat and full of cacti like the way it was portrayed on television. Everything was misshaped, there were no roads, no roadrunners, thankfully no coyotes, and other than the occasional desert shrub, everything was sparse and empty. But he liked it. He liked that it was nothing he had expected. He liked that there were rocks of all shapes and sizes. He likes how messy everything was, that it wasn't a boring, flat valley. He liked giant piles of sand that choked his throat dry. Best of all, he like that there was no one to bother him, and that he was with someone he liked.

"Come on," Crocodile said. He ran across the curved landscape, leaving Doflamingo to admire the new surroundings all on his own. Finding it to be rather lonely at the top without the older boy Doflamingo followed, but took his time, still trying to make out the alien wasteland. Crocodile slid down and began to run over to a small cluster of rocks. Doflamingo slowly made his way down, his eyes now squinting in order to make out the various shapes that were becoming harder to see. He could hear crickets chirp, and he could also hear faraway yipping.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"This is it," Crocodile said. He pointed at the small cluster of rocks and sat himself down right next to it.

"Where your treasure is kept?"

"Yeah," he answered proudly. He lifted the rocks and carefully placed them around in a circle. Doflamingo quietly watched the delicate ritual now taking place, paying close attention to how the boy unearthed the shoebox full of precious coins, and the way he carefully dusted everything off and slowly removed the top. He opened his backpack and pulled a small bag full of change, yanked the strings open, and proceeded to dump his earnings inside the box. Doflamingo expected this to be the end, but then saw Crocodile suddenly dip his hand in the shoebox. He leaned in close and watched the boy pull out two quarters and place them by a rock. After that he placed the shoebox back in it's shallow hole and buried it. Doflamingo counted the rocks that Crocodile placed around the spot.

"You should make it into an "X"," Doflamingo said. "All you need is a few more rocks."

"That's so dumb," Crocodile said. "Everyone will know something is buried here." He picked up the two quarters and handed them to Doflamingo.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Bus fare," Crocodile answered. "Or for a phone booth." He shook his hand in front of Doflamingo, trying to get him to receive the sudden offering. "Take it and use it to go home."

"What? But why?" Doflamingo asked. He pushed Crocodile's hand away. "I don't want to go back."

"You don't know what you're doing," the boy said. "You can't runaway without taking any important things. You left without food, clothes. You probably don't even know where to go."

"So?" Doflamingo asked.

"I bet you didn't even leave a note," Crocodile said. "How can they learn a lesson if you don't tell them why you hate them so much?" He crossed his arms and shook his head. "People wont learn lessons unless you make them hurt really bad. You just left without a warning. What good is that?"

"You think you know?" Doflamingo asked.

"More than you," he answered. It was a goddamn bold statement. Doflamingo knew it was true. It was real now, ant it hurt his feelings knowing that he might be wrong to have left so unprepared.

Doflamingo frowned and stuck his tongue out at Crocodile. "I'm not going back. If I do they'll never let me go out again." He felt his eyes well up in tears, but he didn't cry. Doflamingo quickly wiped his eyes to stop any tears from fully forming. He couldn't show any weakness to this boy who seemed to enjoy his falters and frustrations. No, it would be a while before Doflamingo finally cracked and broke down. "You don't understand. They never want me to do what I want to do."

"You're so spoiled."

"No, that's not it," Doflamingo said. "They're never around. They don't even know me, but they do things for me all the time even though I never wanted them to! I hate the place where we live, and I hate all the stupid people they make me talk to. I hate them all." Saying such words made Doflamingo's face grow hot and his chest tight and cold. His dry hands hurt and his fingers almost dug themselves into his skin. But even though it hurt, there was something so liberating in saying such hurtful words about his own family.

"So you're going to run away?" Crocodile suddenly asked. Doflamingo could see the boy was less irritated with him now. Couldn't see anything else, but someone he saw the face.

"Mhmm," Doflamingo said. Then the craziest thought entered his mind. "You should come with me."

"Why would I do that?"

"Cause I think you wanna runaway too," Doflamingo said.

"Dumb idiot," Crocodile said. Extremely redundant, but Doflamingo took it as though it were an insult of great proportion.

"Don't call me that," he swiped his hand at Crocodile. "Why do you know so much?"

"...Maybe I did try before," Crocodile said.

"Where did you try to go to?" he asked, not "why didn't it work?" or "why did you try to runaway?" or anything that might have angered the boy. Just a question that would hopefully awaken some feelings, rather than pester Crocodile and continue arguing with him about who was right and who was wrong. Besides, Doflamingo had a strong feeling that he already knew the answers, which, to an extent, was true. Both of them were extremely dissatisfied with something.

"West," Crocodile answered. "I want to see the ocean. But that's all the way in California."

"Where's that?" Doflamingo asked.

"Right next to us," Crocodile said. "But it's pretty hard to get to."

"Oh," Doflamingo muttered, eyeing the small pile of rocks that hid the boy's buried treasure. "I've never seen the ocean before."

"Neither have I," the boy said.

"Maybe next time," Doflamingo said. He tugged at the bottom of Crocodile's shirt. "Hey, lets go together."

Crocodile frowned. "With you?" he asked, almost offended by the mere idea.

"Yes," Doflamingo said.

"So, you're not going to run away now?"

Doflamingo blushed. "No, not today I'm not. Later. At the end of summer. Before school starts."

"You're going to run away in the beginning of September now?" Crocodile asked. "No school?"

"Yeah," Doflamingo answered.

"Alright then," Crocodile said. "We'll go in September." Doflamingo had no understanding in the art of sarcasm and took the older boy's false promise as genuine. Of course, they wouldn't go to California in September, nor would they get to go the following year. But Doflamingo would remember the promise for years to come.

The sun was now almost completely engulfed by the scenery. The sky was dark; the moon and stars were emitting the only clear light. Crocodile escorted Doflamingo back into the neighborhood; all the while Doflamingo had so many questions he wanted to ask. Where did Crocodile live, he wondered. What school did he go to? Would it be possible for him to go with the boy?

It had to be past nine when Crocodile suddenly grabbed Doflamingo by the hand and brought him close. Doflamingo felt a sudden rush of blood race across his body as the boy ahead of him remained silent and stiff. Doflamingo could hear sirens in the distance. His eyes lowered to the hand that held his and wished there had been a coyote for him to fight.

"Crocodile," Doflamingo said. It was the first time he had ever said that name. "Where do you live?"

"…none of your business," he answered.

"I don't want them to take me away." Doflamingo frantically tugged at Crocodile's arm, his heart racing as the sounds of siren screams began to get louder, the bright red and blue flashes becoming visible in the darkness.

"You want to teach them a lesson?" Crocodile asked.

Doflamingo stopped trying to flee stared at Crocodile's growing grin.

"Wait," he said. "Wait till they stop and try to rescue you. Then run. Run as fast as you can. Let them know you don't want them in your life. Make sure your parents know you don't need them."

Doflamingo smiled. But then Crocodile let go of his hand, freeing him and abandoning him at the same time.

The police car made an immediate stop in front of the two. Doflamingo continued to look over at Crocodile to see what the boy would do, each and every time he was shocked to see such a calm expression on his face. He was so bored. This was all a game to him. Adults in uniforms hovered above him with a relived smile. They asked for his name. They waved a finger at him, scolded him for being out so late, for being so far from home, for making his mother and father worry. Poor mother, poor father, because never being home and never really knowing what their only child was up to was enough of an embarrassment. How dare he run away and have them face the sad reality that they were both so lousy at their job? A hand was offered to him. It wasn't Crocodile's, but the officers. Doflamingo turned to Crocodile, waiting for a signal. There was none, just a annoyed looking boy, arms crossed and looking away from the other officer who was trying to shame him for playing with a lost child. It was clear that he would have to do this on his own.

Doflamingo extended his arm just a bit, giving the false impression that he would obey the orders that had been given to him. It must have appeared realistic since Crocodile actually watched in mild horror as Doflamingo produced a pitiful smile at the officer. But as the officer leaned forward to take Doflamingo away the boy pulled his arm back and summoned all the energy he had and made a mad dash to the left. He coughed up air as heard the officers behind him swear and scream out his name. His body broke out in a sweat as he heard the sounds of feet stomping on pavement, quickly catching up with his. He was going to get into trouble, they warned, but Doflamingo knew this was false. They couldn't control him. He was nearly out of breath from running, and could feel wind from angry hands trying to grab him brush against his back. They wanted to capture him like a wild animal and force him back into the cage. The thought made Doflamingo produce a wide grin that stretched across his face.

He laughed. He slowed down, but he kept on laughing. And he laughed. And he laughed all the way back to the flashing car, where Crocodile stood with the officer who had both her hands griping tightly on his small shoulders, and he was laughing too. They both laughed as he was handcuffed to the car, Crocodile at the embarrassed officers, Doflamingo at the beauty that he had just seen cast before him; the reddened faces, the yelling, the messy hair covering a young boys perfect smile. They were both in love with living.

It would be more than two months before Doflamingo was lucky enough to explore this new world again. The promise of running away had not been broken, merely prolonged and turned into a long term goal. But if there was one thing Doflamingo could never forget, it was Crocodile's recognition of him after nearly eighty days of separation– _the breaks in between would only grow longer–_ and his soft voice as he called out to him.

"Doflamingo, you're back."


	2. Dealings and Playing Pirates

**-Part 1-**

- **Now** -

The drive to Vergo's place took nearly an hour to get to. Whatever the reason for being called, it had better be good.

It had been a long week. Planes hit some towers in New York, and the sale for cocaine surprisingly drops as citizens decide to suddenly stand together. Proud to be an American? Nonsense. Nobody really cared about being an American, whatever the hell that even meant. Everyone was hurt over having something precious taken away from them: their privacy, their sense of value and the discourses that came with being born in this country. Doflamingo had plans to make and he knew the only way to get there was to make dough. You'd think after something so horrifying people would flock to get their hands on some precious white gold in order to ease the sudden smack across the liberty. Humanity was a strange thing.

He pulled into the driveway of a nice, white suburban home and parked his car in an unfashionably crooked manner. The first thing Doflamingo noticed when stepping out of the car was the opened garage door and the lack of flasks and bottles. Vergo must have cleaned out. Did he really think some destroyed buildings would raise suspicion in a house located on the other side of the country? Although Vergo's worries made him feel somewhat distraught, Doflamingo couldn't help but smile at the opportunity of tossing drug dealing aside for something new. Perhaps something more profitable and less predictable, like humanity itself? Doflamingo grinned brightly at the thought of it. He had always been fond of selling the living. What better way to make money than to take hold of valuable flesh and bone and sell it to the highest bidder? Drugs destroyed the body and mind, but slavery only performed the latter. There were so many people trying to make money in the drug business, but not nearly enough people were capturing selfish white girls off the street and endowing them with the real knowledge of what was privilege and oppression.

"Vergo honey, I'm home," Doflamingo loudly announced as he made his way into the garage. He passed by the folding table Caesar had been using up till now and made his way to the door located at the corner of the once dingy room. Everything had been cleaned up just recently: the floors were damp from being hosed down, and the air had visible, white dust flying around. Vergo must have spent hours sweeping up the mess; tossing all the flasks, bottles, tubes, and buckets of chemicals, powders, flints, and over-the-top pills.

"Vergo, where are you?" Doflamingo called. He opened the screen door into the house and hunched over, his tall frame just making it through the door.

"In the living room," he heard a calm voice reply. He carefully made his way into the hallway, his shoes producing soft clicks against the hardwood flooring, and peered into the grand living room where his current ally meandered about. Around the room were taped up boxes, most likely containing all the materials. The screen door was closed, but the curtain was moved to just one side, exposing everything going on right now for any passerby peeper. Vergo was wearing civilian clothing today, which was extremely odd for Doflamingo, even with the current situation. Vergo's intense demeanor simply did not match this simple form of fashion.

"Uhm…"

"I seemed to have lost the remote," Vergo muttered disdainfully. He faced his boss and Doflamingo was all the more surprised to see Vergo without his sunglasses on, instead they hung on the collar of his shirt. "I was hoping to get some news in before starting the meeting…"

Doflamingo pointed. "The remote's in your hand."

The tall man looked down at his hand and stoically remarked, "So it is…ah, well it's a little too late for that anyways. I suppose you're wondering why I called you in, Sir."

"I really need to find another word for you to use other than "Sir"," Doflamingo muttered. He flopped himself on the leather couch and let his long arms rest across the frame. He smiled grandly at Vergo. "It's a little too…I don't know, _pretentious_ , don't you think?" He stretched out his long legs on the glass coffee table, his grin growing wider when he heard a soft creak from underneath his legs.

"It's not really my place to say," Vergo answered with a slight shrug. He carefully placed the remote next to Doflamingo's crossed legs, flinching when he heard the glass groan from the added weight. "By the way, how has your output been since the incident?"

"I don't like it," Doflamingo said, ignoring Vergo's last comment. He was beginning to suspect, mostly from Vergo's well-adjusted behavior, that things would continue as is. He rested his finger and thumb against his chin as he pondered aloud, "What do you think? Would "boss" be any better?" He rested his head and stared up at the white ceiling, chuckling to himself. "Then again, with the change of business, it may be better for me to just give myself another new name to work with!"

"New business?" Vergo asked.

Doflamingo lowered his sunglasses, making sure Vergo could see the determined look on his face, how eager he was for this new opportunity.

"We're closing," Doflamingo said. "No drugs. Nobody wants them now. Smiles out, bodies in."

"Oh," Vergo muttered. A small frown appeared on his long face as he slowly began to lower his gaze away from the blonde. "Caesar will not like this."

"It was a good year," Doflamingo continued. "Be sure to send our beloved chemist a severance package, maybe some toffee and peanut brittle." He clasped his hands together in delight and laughed manically. "Better yet, we'll get him an Asian girl! He like's those, right?"

Vergo sighed through his nose and gave a short nod before situating himself on the couch right next to Doflamingo. He removed his sunglasses from the collar of his shirt and used them to cover his somewhat disappointed expression. "Might I ask why we're suddenly closing shop?" he asked.

Doflamingo crossed his arms. "Do you really need to know?"

"You said it yourself, it was a good year."

"You know I've never been into the drug dealing," Doflamingo answered. He spread his legs across the table, his right leg pushing the remote closer to the edge. "I like making misery, but drugs have been overdone to death. There's no money in it, not compared to the human trade." Doflamingo leaned in close to his subordinate, resting his head on Vergo's shoulder and smiling innocently at his severe expression. "And considering what just happened, the garage being cleaned out, and the last batch having been made almost two weeks ago, I think now's the perfect time to start anew."

"I simply moved everything across the storages," Vergo replied. He cusped his hands and used them to bury part of his face. "I figured you'd want to take precautions."

"And I'm glad you did," Doflamingo answered. He removed himself from Vergo, replacing his head with a hand. "You did a fine job. So did Caesar."

"What will we do with the remaining product?" Vergo hunched and pointed at the few boxes. "The remaining ingrediants?"

"Fufufu, sell it until we run out of course," he laughed. "You go to that marine base and see if any of the boys will have at it. I'll have Violet sell some of my half, maybe the kids at her school will be willing to buy."

"You'd risk selling crack through a fourteen year old?" Vergo asked. His voice revealed neither shock nor disgust at Doflamingo's suggestion. He didn't even turn his head.

"She knows what to do," Doflamingo answered with a greedy voice. "Would you rather I sell it myself? In this distressed economy?"

"I take it the attacks on the towers have not been well on your side," Vergo stated.

"Are you suggesting things are better for you?" Doflamingo asked.

"If I was to put up an argument for why you should continue business," Vergo said with a confident smirk, "it would be the successful deals taking place around that base." The man stood up from the seat and walked over to the stand located next to the television. Doflamingo watched patiently as Vergo knelt over and opened the drawer lifting out the false bottom and placing it on top the stand. "These men will take whatever they can get their hands on," Vergo commented, slipping out a key from the real bottom of the drawer. He then walked over to Doflamingo and handed him the key. "And nobody notices when a bunch of marines act out."

Doflamingo silently eyed the key before plucking it from Vergo, "What's this lead to?"

"A lock in my bedroom," Vergo answered as he sat himself right back in his previous spot. "Everything I've saved. For all of this. If you let me take your share I can show you how well business is right now."

"Just because you can sell now doesn't mean you'll sell in the future," Doflamingo countered. "Everyone's calling this a terrorist attack. How are you going to sell to these men once things start getting real ugly? Unless you're inside they'll have you searched and it will be all over."

Vergo frowned. "…You're right," he said, "and here I was thinking how insulting it was that you'd be relying on a teenager to make money."

"Violet's a smart girl." Doflamingo played with the key in his hand, letting it grow warm as it rubbed against his large fingers.

"Human trade is extremely dangerous," Vergo said. "And with this attack on the country how do you expect us to get away with it?"

"We'll have the advantage of starting right when security will be at it's strictest," Doflamingo answered. "Every big busy-man is going to be trying to readjust. With the money we have now I'll set up a series of possible trails and gather information on any trades currently going on. Worst comes to worse I'll even play the subordinate role in a bigger branch."

Vergo didn't answer. Instead he remained still, listening to his boss' suggestions. Doflamingo knew Vergo would listen to him. In the two years they've known each other he had managed to surprise the older man and create an empire. Doflamingo knew how to sell ideas. He knew how to get people to listen to him. He had territories spread out and rivals that couldn't compare their product to his. Best of all, Doflamingo knew exactly how to treat his customers. He kept Caesar's best saved for customers who had the big bucks, and offered the less pure gold to those who were desperate for a hit. He created addiction by giving away strong, clean coke to new timers, and once it became a daily routine, would raise prices and have them fight over what he chose to offer.

"And what do I tell Caesar?"

Doflamingo made a lazy, uncaring shrug. "It would be wrong if we told him today. I think I'll wait a few days, give him the impression things are fine. Once we've sold the rest of our product we'll give him his share and send him on his way."

"Not worried?"

"He won't say a goddamn thing," Doflamingo said. He got up from his seat and eyed the small key in his hands. Knowing Vergo had spent money on a safe, spent the time to hide a key, and had shown confidence in handing him the valuable information did make Doflamingo wonder about his choice to have Violet sell. Sure, kids were a wonderful demographic, but if Vergo was doing this swell of a job then maybe it would be wise to reconsider. And Vergo was a brilliant man, even with his threat of possibly being caught Doflamingo was positive Vergo had little to worry about.

Doflamingo chuckled. "Let's see how much you got saved up." He gestured towards Vergo to lead him to his bedroom. "Violet's smart, but if you've got what it takes then I'll have you take it."

He watched as Vergo suddenly light up, enthusiastic to prove himself in their soon-to-be-over business. Doflamingo wondered whether Vergo had felt just a touch of dismay over the loss of their dealings. No, but Vergo must have known that he wanted to change. Doflamingo loved destroying lives too much to settle with something so low as drug dealer. It didn't matter if he was to become the king of the streets. Doflamingo wanted something more. He couldn't settle for anything less than more _. You need it all,_ Doflamingo reassured himself.

"Show me the way," he said. He knew where Vergo's bedroom was, but chose for his partner to lead out of respect.

"Right away, _Sir_."

"Seriously," Doflamingo said, "we really need to find another word that doesn't make me sound like some conceited bastard."

"I'll be sure to think of something," Vergo replied. The two walked back into the hall, Doflamingo half-eyeing the family pictures that littered the baby-yellow walls. All were aligned in such a way that made the pictures appear crooked, imperfect. And it seemed as though every collection of family photos had a smiling child, a loving mother, and bright colors that would trick the visitor into believing that this was Vergo's life, his family, his everything. Surely the bent nail that hung an embarrassing photo of a young Vergo must have been bent out of frustration, misused affection, or nostalgia? It would be impossible to comprehend that a man would set the time aside to make certain photos were hung with less care than another, were doctored and organized to produce a sense of trust.

Doflamingo loved this man. He couldn't think of anyone he would place so much trust into.

"Doflamingo?" Vergo's voice seemed a bit out of its usual pitch. It was him being nervous again.

"What?" he asked.

"How exactly do you plan on getting all these people?" Vergo opened the door to his room and let his young boss through first. Doflamingo felt a small, almost childish smile emerge on his face.

"We take them, of course," Doflamingo responded. "It's not hard, Vergo."

"And where from?" his subordinate asked without letting the last comment sink in. Doflamingo knew that Vergo knew the answer to this question. America of course. Plenty of attractive men and women roaming the streets; there was no reason to outsource and gather girls from the streets of Europe of South America.

"You know we have a nice supply right here," Doflamingo stated. He walked right into a very plain bedroom that lacked any real sort of decoration that would provide a visitor the sense of who Vergo was. Of course, nobody would ever be so unlucky to have entered this strange sanctuary. "All we have to do is be clever in how we snatch them, and even more clever in where we place them!"

"You plan on selling them within the states?" This time Vergo was shocked.

"Fufufu, of course I won't limit myself to just outside the country," he answered. "I'll sell them all over the planet, and if someone here wants a California-girl, I'll give it to him for the right price."

Vergo sat himself down on the painfully neat bed. White sheets, white spread, white pillows. This matched the eggshell walls and off-white shelving. This wasn't a lack of personality, nor was it made to disgruntle anyone who dare enter the room. Nope, this was the real Vergo.

"Seems terribly risky," said subordinate muttered.

"Ah, Vergo, don't fret," Doflamingo remarked. He rested a foot on the wooden framing and kneeled over his second, his shadow covering nearly all of Vergo's self. His childish grin was replaced with a more sinister one, adult and full of greed and ghastliness. "It's not that hard. No more harder than taking anything else without permission."

Despite being bothered just moments before, Doflamingo saw Vergo smirk, and then chuckle. "You're comparing slave trade with stealing, you know that?"

Doflamingo pouted. "I don't like the term, stealing. Stealing. It sounds so… _juvenile_." Doflamingo hovered right above Vergo, allowing his sunglasses to slip and exposed a threatening glance at the older man. "And I know that's exactly what you're tying to suggest, _Vergo,_ that it really is quite similar. No, but it's not stealing."

"…is there another term you'd prefer?" Vergo asked. The well-composed manner of his voice sounded forced.

"Plunder," Doflamingo answered.

"And might I as what the difference between the two words?" Vergo asked.

"Stealing implies the childish behavior of taking another's property," Doflamingo answered, "and plunder involves the illegal, usually forced, taking of another's good." He removed himself from his previous position and stood upright in front of Vergo. "And if you're curious to know, the difference between property and goods, at least in this case, is quite simple." Doflamingo lifted a finger. "Goods are always in demand, which is why force is usually involved in the process, and," he lifted a second finger, "while property may be desired by many, it is by no means always in demand, and since it doesn't imply that same sense of vulgarity that plundering does it is often viewed as the lesser." Doflamingo lowered his hand, letting his two fingers stiffly curl into a tight fist.

"Children steal…men plunder."

"I understand," Vergo said.

"An the last thing we need is for our goods to think they're property," Doflamingo added.

"Ah, so there was a third point," Vergo said.

"There will be as many as I need there to be," Doflamingo replied. He felt his chest relax as he watched Vergo slowly sway his head up and down.

"Right," Doflamingo said. His eyes turned to the closet located on the other side of the room. "You had something you wanted to show me."

"Ah, yes!" Vergo stood up and began to pat down his pockets. "The safe…now where did I put the key?"

Doflamingo sighed through his smile and grabbed Vergo by the shoulder, his key at hand. "I have the key," he said.

"So you do," Vergo replied. He took the key and opened the sliding door closet, exposing the small safe located on the bottom. Other than it being tucked into the corner, only shielded by some shoes and a coat, the safe itself wasn't well hidden. Doflamingo took great pride seeing this.

"I'm expecting something big on the other side," said the tall blonde.

"You will," Vergo remarked assertively.

Doflamingo rested his arm against the wall, his body looming over the older man as he watched Vergo unlock the safe with the look of a greedy vulture. When the safe was opened he unconsciously dug his fingers into his hair. His nails scrapping against his scalp reminded him the amount saved was in fact real, and Doflamingo couldn't help but laugh as he got down on his knees and fished through the riches that Vergo had produced for him. _Treasure_ , Doflamingo thought, _this is real buried treasure. More than_ you _could ever hope to produce._

"You're profiting?" he asked gleefully.

"By one and a half," Vergo answered. "I was considering buying Caesar higher quality tools, but it doesn't look like we'll be needing to do that now."

"Vergo, this is amazing!" Doflamingo picked up a neatly tucked roll of bills and weighed it in his hand before carefully flipping through it. "And all of this was saved up during the year…from marines?"

"They're men without honor," Vergo stated.

Doflamingo placed the money back into the safe, feeling a rejuvenated sensation he hadn't felt in nearly a year. "That they are," he said. "Ah, yes, I'll have you sell the rest of the product we have left." He sucked in his lower lip and felt his chest grow cold with what he was about to say next. He knew Vergo was making money, and there was no evidence this change would be nearly as profitable as the current dealing he was doing now.

"Vergo," Doflamingo said. "We're not going to fire Caesar, not yet." He closed the safe and stood himself up, pulling down his tightened jeans as he acclimated himself back into his unusual domineering pose. "We'll have him produce here and there…but I do plan on trading humans."

"I see," Vergo said. "You don't think this will be too much?"

"It wont be anything compared to what I want you to do," he replied. He allowed some guilt to be shown as he sat himself down on the bed. "You're making money form these deadbeat soldiers, but we can't expect the higher ups to allow a strange man such as yourself to hang around these men, not after everything that's happened this week."

Vergo frowned. "What are suggesting I do?"

"Nothing too big," Doflamingo answered, "just join the marines and make me money for my new business."

_Things are coming up nice on this side. Very nice. How are they on yours?_

* * *

- **Then** -

Since Crocodile lived so far away the time the two boys spent together was precious, at least it was to Doflamingo. Studying brought by school restricted their weekdays hours to none for the first few years of their friendship, leaving Friday and the weekend the only time Doflamingo would be allowed to visit the other boy, and that was only if he could tire his mother out with a faked tantrum. Neither of his parents wanted him to play with the boy. A child who never smiled, left no address, and spent his days making mockery of others could provide no good influence of their dear, innocent, only son.

This was essentially true, but Doflamingo was sure he'd take up smoking cigarettes, pot, stealing drinks, food, and articles of clothing, music, and other accessories on his own time. All Crocodile really did was slightly speed up the inevitable.

"Stealing's really not that hard," Crocodile muttered as the two of them made their way to the liquor shop located at the opposite side of the neighborhood. The two hurried across the street, Crocodile leading the way and Doflamingo following him while making the occasional glance around the area, doing his best to remember the trees, houses, fire hydrants. This was their sixth time together, and the first time Crocodile would show him more of his tricks since they had first met.

"It isn't?" Doflamingo asked, his mouth agape with exhilaration.

"No, especially since there's two of us now." Crocodile pulled two dollars from his pocket, waving them above Doflamingo as though they were holy relics. "And you're young and cute and you're parents are rich so you wont get in trouble either."

Doflamingo did his best to not blush from the compliment. He turned his attention to the rows of nicer looking houses, making a mental note of their location and wondering if Crocodile lived in one of them.

"Just in case though, I'm gonna spend some money while we do it," Crocodile continued. Hearing this Doflamingo went wide eyed, feeling some of his nerves shake when he realized Crocodile expected him to do this without first showing him.

"What if I get caught?" Doflamingo asked. This was a rhetorical question because of course he would succeed in nabbing whatever Crocodile demanded he get.

"I already told you that you'd be fine," Crocodile said. He arched back and groaned loudly. "Look, if you get caught just scream and cry…they might let you go if there are other people and you scream and cry."

"Will you stay if I get caught?" he asked.

Crocodile's answer came in the form of a swift, elated laugh.

"What's so funny?" Doflamingo asked, frowning at the older boy.

"If you get caught I'm leaving," he answered. "You think I wanna get in trouble? It's your own fault if you get caught doing it."

"Well that not fair," Doflamingo complained. "I've never done this before."

"It's super easy," Crocodile said, stopping in front of Doflamingo and grabbing him by the arm. You're wearing sleeves. Just take two small things at a time, but put one in your sleeve." Crocodile inserted three of his fingers through the sleeve, tickling Dolfmiango's wrists. "You can probably fit gum and some candy in here."

"What about drinks?" Doflamingo asked, his eyes glowing from the joy brought on by the prospects of immersing in sweet teas, juices, and sodas.

"No way, you'll need pants or a backpack if you want to get that," Crocodile said, shaking his head. "You'll get caught no matter what, and once you get caught you can't ever return to the place without getting arrested or something!"

"Did you get arrested?"

Crocodile laughed again. "Hell no! I'd never get caught doing something so easy." Crocodile then moved on to the other article Doflamingo chose wore on this outing, his shorts. Doflamingo jumped when he felt the older boy inspect his pockets. Although there was no direct contact the brief warmth produced from the older boy's hand made Doflamingo extremely aware of how close Crocodile was.

"Your pockets are too small."

"Huh? What does that mean?" Doflamingo asked. Crocodile pulled away and bared his usual frown.

"Means you can't take anything really important," he answered. "No chips, no donuts, no treats." He sighed and stared at the dollars in his hands. "We're gonna have to buy them."

"Is that bad?"

Crocodile groaned. "It's expensive! A bag a of chips is almost a dollar!"

"I like gum," Doflamingo said, "We can get that instead." He smiled at the older boy in hopes that this would somehow make things all better. Crocodile shrugged and walked ahead of Doflamingo, purposely taking bigger steps to get away from what he considered to be a very annoying child.

But Doflamingo caught up and continued to try to appease Crocodile, his small mind eager to find a way to make Crocodile happy. But it seemed like not matter what he said Crocodile would only remark it as being stupid, or him being stupid for even thinking it up. Eventually the two of them made it to the store and Crocodile yanked the boy close and reminded him everything he had told him previously on their way here. He handed Doflamingo a dollar and told him to pick something that was less, but before he did pick it to wander around the store and pretend to look around.

"That's when you do the stealing," he whispered into Doflamingo's ear. "Pick two things up, put one away. Nothing too big or it will show and you'll get into big trouble."

All Doflamingo could think about was how much of a girl Crocodile looked when his hair fell frontward, covering some of his face, usually the harsh, unwelcoming expressions.

"Ok," he answered somewhat absentmindedly.

"And don't look up at the cameras!" Crocodile warned. "If you look guilty then the adults will ask you what's going on. They'll see you're trying to steal, and I'm not going to help you if you get caught."

"I wont get caught," Doflamingo confidently stated. He looked at the crumbled dollar in his hands and brought it to his face, inhaling the dry scent. How much could a dollar buy? He pulled at Crocodile's shirt and waved the dollar in front of him. "How much do Starbursts cost?"

"Fifty cents, but you can get that for free," Crocodile said. "Use the dollar to get a drink or something really nice." He pushed Doflamingo off of him and walked ahead into store. Doflamingo continued to stare at his dollar and wondered how much he could sneak in without spending Crocodile's money. He wanted to impress the boy so much.

So a young blonde boy wearing nice, currently clean clothes, a bright, pink smile, and the look of awe as he stares at his supposed allowance walks into a liquor store for the first time. The owner looks up from his papers and does nothing. This boy isn't a problem, he thinks. At worst, he won't know how to count the money. No way the child was up to something amiss.

Doflamingo peered up at the drinks selection and wondered how he was supposed to open the sliding door with arms full of candies and gum? He passed by it while lowering his gaze, still keeping a small, childish smirk as he followed the sounds of Crocodile's light steps. He stopped right behind the older boy who was picking through different varieties of chocolates.

Doflamingo stared at the rows of chocolates and slowly lifted his arms up, reviewing the limited space his sleeves offered. "I want a Kit Kat bar," Doflamingo muttered.

"It'll melt right away," Crocodile responded, still squatted over and viewing his potential bounty. "M&Ms last longer in the heat."

It was the middle of October, and the heat was the least of a hungry Doflamingo's worries. He loved the crispy wafers and would eat them right away. "I don't care. Get them for me," he demanded.

With a slight turn Doflamingo saw an eye look up at him with a testing stare. Without saying a word Doflamingo moved to Crocodile side, extended his arm up to reach at the rows of gum and picked two packets of mint gum. With Crocodile still staring intensely at him, Doflamingo carefully let the lower pack of gum slip, his middle finger struggling to keep it from falling anywhere other than the inside of his clothing.

"I like cinnamon," he heard Crocodile say. Doflamingo silently nodded and placed the mint gum away while his upper arm tickled with the cool plastic cover from the gum that he had successfully taken. He picked out two of the same red packets and proceeded to do the same with his left arm. He giggled as the packet ran halfway down his arm, stopping once the gum met with his elbow, and became quiet once more as he hurriedly resituated his arm to hide his second stolen token. When Doflamingo looked down Crocodile was still staring up at him, but this time with a pleased expression. In his hand was a Kit Kat Bar.

Doflamingo slowly browsed the store for a minute more, carefully stashing himself full of candies while Crocodile settled the heavier variety. It was after the older boy went to get himself something to drink did Doflamingo choose to spend his dollar on a Hostess treat.

Doflamingo remembered standing on his toes, carefully lifting his arm as to not lose the now five treats resting within him. His eyes barely met up with the cashiers, but despite his terrible view Doflamingo's small eyes met with a row of dark spectacles gleaming down at him. He swallowed tight as Crocodile called him out of the store, the pain of buyer's remorse hitting him as his focus began to center on the pair of sunglasses located on the top of the row.

"Hurry up!" he heard Crocodile groan. The boy had several hidden things on his self, two of them being delicate chocolate.

"OK! I'm coming," Doflamingo called out. He paid for his one snack while struggling to pull his attention away from the sunglasses that he really wanted to have.

Doflamingo left the store, his arms awkwardly positioned as he followed Crocodile back into the usual neighborhood, his mind still lingering over the temporary loss. As Crocodile halfheartedly congratulated him Doflamingo consoled himself into believing that it simply wasn't meant to be. He couldn't have bought them, sunglasses must cost at least a few more dollars.

Doflamingo become aware of Crocodile's more soothing tone once he felt one of the small packets of gum fall out of his sleeves and on to the pavement. He looked down and remembered he was full of sweets and began to remove them while Crocodile watched. Once he had all the other confectionaries out Doflamingo leaned down to pick up the cinnamon flavored gum, and was greeted with a hand holding on to a now soft Kit Kat Bar. He grabbed at the red package and smiled up at Crocodile.

"Thanks!" he chirped.

Crocodile merely rolled his eyes, choosing to scoff at Doflamingo's appreciation, but even the little boy could see past the other's hard demeanor. Crocodile was proud of him, proud enough to let some of his true feelings break through at the ends of his thin lips, taking the form of a very small, almost unnoticeable smile. "Next time wear pants," Crocodile responded.

* * *

It was nearly four in the afternoon when Doflamingo grew tired of the swings and decided to see what Crocodile was up to. The older boy had taken him to their usual meeting grounds, and the very place where Doflamingo had accidently stumbled upon Crocodile for the second time, a small park in the center of the neighborhood that Doflamingo had gotten lost in. Though Crocodile refused to talk about his home, the park did provide a place and address for him to make his weekend treks to.

"Crocodile, Crocodile," Doflamingo ran up to the tree that the boy had been sitting under, expecting him to still be at the journal that he had opened and began drawing in twenty minutes before.

But the journal lay closed on the grass, and Crocodile lay cured up underneath the shade, his eyes barely half open. _The fetal position_.

"Crocodile," Doflamingo complained in a high-pitched whine. "Get up. I wanna go play on the giant rocks in the desert."

"Mmmmm," Crocodile closed his eyes tight and buried his head in his hands. "Later," he moaned through his palms. "I'm tired."

"But I'm not," Doflamingo said. He crawled close to Crocodile and pulled some candy from his pockets. "Eat some Starbursts."

"No, I'm full," he echoed into his hands. The younger boy watched Crocodile make a face in between his fingers. "I'm tired." To be fair, it had been a hot day. The shade probably felt good. The fat and salts made the body tired. But Doflamingo was a six year old who needed to be constantly stimulated.

"I'm bored," he whined.

"Leave me alone, go do something else," Crocodile muttered. He grabbed a clump of some of the grass and threw it towards Doflamingo. The little boy grimaced at the green blades that covered him while Crocodile closed his eyes and continued to rest. Doflamingo wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake him awake, but he knew better.

Doflamingo learned early on in this relationship that Crocodile had something of a bad temper. This wasn't to say that he mistreated Doflamingo. The older boy treated him as any other older child would, with a combination of affection, patience, and moderate annoyance. If Doflamingo did something that he disliked there was almost always a warning. Most of the time it was a look. He'd quickly turn his head that a few strands of hair would fall across his face, but Doflamingo would see between the strands a threatening look and would simmer down. Other times it was vocal; he'd hiss out the words "No" or "Stop it," or if he was really pissed off, "Leave." Crocodile never warned him with physical violence, other than the occasional push. A good thing too since Doflamingo was very affectionate towards Crocodile.

No, he saved the physical violence for other children who upset him. He gave little warning to those who bothered him. Most of the time Crocodile would just wait for them to get close enough and then would suddenly react with cruel retaliation. The weapon of choice usually took the form of sand. Doflamingo learned how something so simple could be used in a multitude of ways. You could throw sand into a persons face, grab handfuls and stuff it into their nostrils and mouth, rub it into scratches, pour it into one's clothing. Once left blinded Crocodile was left with an unlimited amount of options. Sometimes he'd continue to hurt them, usually with kicks, other times with scorn and laughter. But most of the time Crocodile would just watch his victims cry for a minute or two before getting bored and going back to play with Doflamingo.

Never once did Doflamingo think this sort of violence to be unusual. The first time it happened he was quite surprised, perhaps even a little shocked, but recovered fast as curiosity took over. Before he knew it Doflamingo was kneeling next to a crying boy almost twice his age, watching him with a small smile as the child tried to rub away infectious sand from his eyes. He would memorize their howls and helpless screams, and would recall the actions that Crocodile performed in order to achieve these results, and would later remind himself of all of this for later use. He'd carefully squat inches away from another crying child and wondered when he'd be respected enough by Crocodile to be invited into this act of torment. Doflamingo crawled close and wished he could create the same terror that the older boy could. _One day you will_ , he told himself. Crocodile had to be the one to yank him away and return him back to the games they had been playing before. _And you did_.

Doflamingo began to remove the grass that had been thrown at him when his eyes rested on the journal lying on the floor.

"What did you draw?" he asked. Crocodile continued to curl himself up, only freeing his one arm to lazily gesture at Doflamingo that it was ok for him to look inside.

The young boy picked up the small, worn out journal, and opened it up to expose the crude depiction of a ship of some sort. Doflamingo lifted the journal up, the pencil acting as a marker fell and bounced on the soft ground.

"Is this a ship?" Doflamingo asked. "What kind it is?" He looked over and stared at a very silent Crocodile. After receiving no response for several seconds Doflamingo went back to looking at the picture. Although it had been drawn by a nine year old, Doflamingo did remember the amount of detail that had gone into the picture. He didn't know what it was until he saw the flag decorated with a skull and crossbones, a jolly roger, did Doflamingo piece it together. And then he realized the circles that littered the ship were cannons; the little stick figures holding small sticks were pirates.

"It's a pirate ship!" Doflamingo announced. Crocodile uttered a few audible noises before going silent again.

He flipped through a few pages and stopped at another familiar looking illustration. More skulls, this time encased around circles with lined ridges. It was pirate treasure.

He crawled over to Crocodile, journal in his hand, and waited a few minutes to ask the older boy a question. Of course Crocodile didn't wake up and Doflamingo was force to come up with the connections himself. But after several minutes of thinking it made total sense. Crocodile hid treasure out in the desert like buried treasure. It was just like pirates. And the pictures reaffirmed Doflamingo's suspicion that the aspects of it enchanted the older boy. Pirates had all the fun and adventure.

Doflamingo flipped to the end of the journal and tore out a blank page from the spiraled spine. Crocodile stirred but didn't seem too bothered by the sound. The young boy occasionally looked over, just in case, making sure Crocodile didn't wake up as he began to fold the page. After several attempts to fold the sheet into his imagined surprise for Crocodile, Doflamingo tore out another page, combined it with the original, and made a lopsided, pointed hat with it. He reopened the journal and flipped to a page that had a jolly roger on it. He had never drawn a skull before, and Crocodile's design looked too advanced for him to copy, so he chose to draw his own version instead. With the pencil at hand Doflamingo drew an almost perfect circle on his paper hat, followed by two smaller circles, which he colored in with the pencil. Since he was in a particularly good mood he decided to have his skull smile nice and wide for everyone to see. As carefully as he could Doflamingo made the grin, and began to space out the lines that would become the teeth. A few moments later and Doflamingo lifted the hat up and smiled at his hard work.

In need of immediate praise, Doflamingo chose to take the risk and gave Crocodile a mild shake, and when that didn't work he placed his hat on the ground and used both his hands to awaken his sleeping friend.

"Wake up, I made something," he said loudly. Doflamingo backed up when a hand made a swing at him, just barely missing his face.

"Leave me alone!" Crocodile groaned. He turned his head and glared at the blonde boy.

"Look, look," Doflamingo pestered. He picked up his messy paper hat and practically shoved it into Crocodile's face. "I made you a pirate hat!"

Crocodile squint his eyes and wiped his face, trying to see through adjusting eyes. "What?" he asked.

Doflamingo offered the hat up to Crocodile. "It's a hat! I made it. It has the skeleton head on it, see?"

The older boy grumbled, but took the hat from Doflamingo, raising it up and examining the work put into it. He yawned. "Your skull has no nose," he muttered. No skulls had noses, but both of them knew what he had meant.

Doflamingo shrugged. "I forgot," he said.

Crocodile lightly held on to the hat, making the occasional glance over at Doflamingo, saying nothing more. Looking back, it was pretty obvious that the hat was shit. He had folded over and over, leaving the structure frail and the look crumbled. But little Crocodile's silence and refusal to continue to negatively remark the hat's flaws struck a very powerful chord _right now_.

"Do you like it?" Doflamingo asked. He moved up close with his hands resting on Crocodile's legs, his face unbearably close to his. The boy looked at the eager child, then back at the hat.

"It's ok," Crocodile murmured, looking down at the misshaped object in his hand.

"Wear it," Doflamingo commanded. Before he could protest the smaller boy yanked the hat away and adorned it on the confused Crocodile's head where it lay for a few seconds before slipping off. As soon as it hit the grass Doflamingo picked it up and carefully replaced the crumbling hat back on Crocodile's head, making sure to adjust it so that it wouldn't fall again.

Crocodile couldn't see what he looked like with the horrible constructed ornament on him, but must have assumed he looked as stupid as the hat did because no sooner did Doflamingo sit back did his face go red from embarrassment. But none of this really mattered because Doflamingo remembered that he kept the damn thing on. Crocodile would stiffly lower his face, avoiding all eye contact from Doflamingo's younger self, but didn't remove the strange article. Especially not after hearing Doflamingo's praises.

"You're a pirate captain," Doflamingo said.

"Captain," Crocodile murmured through his hidden face. He raised his head a bit, revealing some of his pinked face before going back to his previous uncomfortable demeanor.

"Just like in your pictures," Doflamingo added. "Now you're captain of the pirates." He laughed and moved up close to Crocodile, who then proceeded to attempt to move away from Doflamingo. "See, we bury treasure and steal. And you drawed the ship and the coins and stuff."

"Uh-huh…" Crocodile replied. He plucked the hat from his head and stared at it again, and while doing this Doflamingo once again got extremely close to the older boy, waiting for him to further compliment the gift he made. It was a terribly uncomfortable situation for both of them. Even though he was only six Doflamingo could detect the strain coming from the older child, and not knowing why Crocodile couldn't respond positively to his craftwork, he assumed the worse and frowned, letting his hands tuck in between his legs and his fingers dig into the soft soil.

"You don't like it."

Crocodile turned and shook his head. "I didn't say that," he said.

"You don't look like you like it," Doflamingo pointed out. Of course, Crocodile lacked the skills necessary to explain how the gift had made him feel, as terrible and crappy as it was. Doflamingo knew now that the boy appreciated the gesture, especially since no one really knew the fantasies and passions he held as a child, and though it was embarrassing to have to open up to another person, Doflamingo knew Crocodile enjoyed it to some extent. But the child staring at Crocodile right at that moment knew absolutely nothing, was still too selfish to see beyond the games they played.

"I…like it," Crocodile finally murmured, only after hunching over and raising his shoulders to the point where his shoulders matched up with his reddened ears.

"Really?" he asked apprehensively.

"Yesss," Crocodile hissed. He raised his head up and shoved the hat back on his head, the force being enough to tear at the back of it. "See, I'm wearing it," he said, pointing up at the lopsided hat while he kept it up with his left hand. Doflamingo watched with fascination as Crocodile forced a grin on his face. It was awkward to look at since the boy had never tried to appease anyone before in such a manner, but somehow this horrific looking gesture had won Doflamingo over. "I like the hat. I really do."

Doflamingo swayed his head to the side and smiled. "Will you wear it all the time?"

"It tore," Crocodile responded, pulling the hat off and showing the ridden backside.

"Oh," Doflamingo said. He let a hand rest over the ripped section and then turned to Crocodile, somewhat dismayed. "You can't be captain without the hat."

Crocodile sighed. "That's ok," he said, "I don't think I'd just want to be captain anyway."

"What do you mean?" he asked.

"I want something more than just that," Crocodile answered while playing with the torn edges of the hat. He smiled, for real this time, and said, "There's a lot of things I'd like to be, you know?"

"Yeah," Doflamingo answered. He looked over at the playground that he had grown bored of previously, and then back at Crocodile, who was now awake and couldn't possibly fall asleep after this. "Let's play in the desert before I have to go."

"Ok," Crocodile muttered, standing up and collecting his things while Doflamingo continued to stare at the crumbled hat in the boys hands.

"Did you have money you wanted to bury?" he asked.

"Not today," the older boy answered. Doflamingo gave a short nod before gazing down at his hands, remembering that forced expression Crocodile made a few minutes ago. Why was it that hard, and why did it upset him so much when he couldn't get the reaction he wanted? Doflamingo sucked the saliva in his mouth and swallowed, growing more frustrated when he couldn't come up with the answer.

"Come on already," Crocodile said. He grabbed Doflamingo by the upper arm and yanked him up. "You need to stop daydreaming."

"Ok," Doflamingo muttered. He followed Crocodile, trying to pay attention to something else than the strange anger that seemed to have appeared from nowhere.

Crocodile must have been aware that something was off. But being the child he was he had no idea what that annoying little brat was upset about, and figured Doflamingo was still caught up on the hat ordeal.

"Hey," Doflamingo heard Crocodile say. He hurried up and aligned himself with Crocodile. The older boy eyed him with his usual bored stared and then sighed. "Thanks," he said. Doflamingo stared back with a blank expression, surprised by this sudden change, and Crocodile groan aloud, exasperated from his weakened dose of Doflamingo.

"Thank. You." Crocodile said loudly. The hat in right hand began to fall apart as it was exposed to nervous, sweaty palms.

Doflamingo grinned from ear to ear. "Your welcome," he said. If Crocodile weren't so clearly irritated with him Doflamingo would have dove in for an attempted hug, but didn't want to risk the cold rejection of being pushed away. This feeling right now was good enough.


	3. Death Lurks Inside the Pupils

**-Part 1-**

**-Then-**

He had not shown up Friday afternoon. And when Doflamingo returned on Saturday, everything was as he had left it, with the eleven year old still missing from this world. And on Sunday, after spending a majority of the day nervously meandering around his house, hesitant to travel the long distance out of fear of being rejected by the older boy's sudden disappearance, Doflamingo, eight years old and feeling for the first time in his life that sudden creeping in his heart, stared at the cruel sight of an empty desert, his head slowly lowering down to the shallow ditch that had been dug up not too long ago, the unforgiving sight of treasure no longer buried, leaving only an empty shoebox cast aside, the top half having been captured by the dry wind.

Something terrible happened.

* * *

**-Now-**

It was happening again. Doflamingo had let his mind wander into a memory that had not been successfully repressed, and now, underneath the cloudy skies filled with gulls, he felt the same heave in his heart that made him sense that death was just around the corner. He fondled his pockets and groaned into his throat at the realization that he had left with no pair of sunglasses to hide behind. He felt a scowl grow on his face as he hurried past the figures of laughing beachgoers, their shrill cries of excitement making him sick to his stomach, their bright colored bikinis and short coming off as more obnoxious than anything else, their happiness driving him insane. Had they nothing better to do that run around all day at a stupid beach, wasting their lives away when they could be doing something more with themselves? Everyone was so unproductive.

He wasn't sure why he had thought going to the beach was a good idea to begin with. He had only spent maybe half an hour their before the feeling of perpetual guilt, the memories of falling into a deep, dark, mental abyss, took over and reminded him why he was here in the first place. Doflamingo had nearly forgotten that the beachside apartment, the wonderful Californian weather, and the magnificent view of the ocean were a temporary prison for him to endure till he completed his task. But after that half hour he remembered why he had done all of this, and after realizing that he had done hardly a thing the past three days since meeting Vergo, Doflamingo concluded that he had done the worse possible thing.

Staring at the ocean was a waste of time. He could stare at it later, once everything was completed, and once he had someone to share the view with.

Doflamingo continued uphill till he reached the familiar white foundation, one corner missing some of the white plaster and exposing an older, orangey bricklayer. Surrounding the apartment building was enough wild mint to nearly cover the smell of salt water, but Doflamingo new better than to let a plant hide away his punishment. Being lucky enough to live on the bottom floor, Doflamingo walked through the giant patch of wild herb and jumped right into his patio. Although he couldn't see the ocean from the patio, it still had a lovely…charm to it, the sort of thing you could only find in southern California. He couldn't wait for the day he could be free from work and take the time to decorate the place.

Doflamingo opened the sliding door, and, whilst closing it, eyed the phone that had been tossed on the couch two hours prior. He carefully walked across the small apartment, avoiding messy stacks of paper, books, clothing, and collected trinkets that had been placed wherever there was available space. _Crocodile will know where to place everything_ , Doflamingo would often tell himself as he added another something to his temporary hoard.

He picked up the phone and felt his heart palpitate as his mind raced back to just a few years ago, the tight, firm grip belonging to death now on his shoulders, whispering fault right into his ears. He had one message. Doflamingo landed on the couch with a heavy thud, cradling the phone in his large hand while leaning over to the small table in front of him, tossing aside some notes he had worked on the night before and unearthing the flashing answering machine.

He knew who left the message, and seeing that he had taken the time to actually leave one behind was a warning to the tall blonde of his other failure from earlier this morning. It was a difficult thing, gathering information from Mihawk, and Doflamingo was rather sure of himself that this message left for him was the brooding man's way of reminding him that it wasn't possible to collect valuable detail from him, especially since he _apparently_ had none to give. But Doflamingo knew this to be complete bullshit, knowing better than to believe what Mihawk would have to say. He had heard the truth a little over a year ago…he had heard him say it aloud, drunk, weary, and miserable: the absolute truth.

But Doflamingo went ahead and pressed the flashing button, allowing Mihawk the time he deserved to have his say. Even though the man would have the advantage of being a message that couldn't be argued with, the sobriety that would assure him the ability to lie through his tongue, and the time necessary to say just about whatever he needed in order to shift the blame on Doflamingo. He took a deep breath and relaxed himself, staring up at the ceiling and counting the cracks as the message began:

"I see you finally remembered I live in New York…"

"Shit," Doflamingo muttered. He chuckled nervously, shaking his head disapprovingly at his terrible memory.

"…But that's not the reason you called. Of course, it never is." There was a short pause, the proof Doflamingo needed to justify that this one sided exchange between a man and a message was pointless. "You already know what I'm about to tell you, Doflamingo."

"You don't know where he is," Doflamingo scoffed.

"I don't know where he is," Mihawk's voice rang through the machine. "And I haven't seen him since–"

"–the last time we were all together," Doflamingo finished loudly, cancelling the sound of Mihawk's overly calm, monotone, annoying, lying-piece-of-shit voice. "Yada-yada, whatever."

"Look, it's almost October, and if you'd like I–" Doflamingo pressed the delete button, erasing the rest of the message. He'd have to try again later, when the man was less sober, unprepared to be properly interrogated.

Doflamingo held on tightly to the phone, considering whether he ought to try once more today before waiting another month or so to call Mihawk again. Approaching him face to face wouldn't work. Doflamingo couldn't even begin to imagine the things he'd do to Mihawk if he ever saw him in person. The man was a liar. He was keeping the most important thing away from him, and all the money he had saved up would mean nothing if he couldn't use it on what he desired most. Doflamingo moved his hand upward, feeling the antenna poke his chin and slide up his face. He continued to look up at the ceiling, ignoring his organized mess as he let his mind turn attention to his previous plans.

He had to think of a way to make more money. Even with all the funds he had made the previous year the amount in his savings account was still only in the five digits. Yes, it was more than what most twenty-something-year-olds had, but it wasn't enough for what he needed. He still couldn't afford Crocodile.

Cocaine was…decent, the middle of the ladder when it came to most drugs, a stepping stone to harder, darker things. It was the drug someone took when they were tired of the nicotine and high, but was too afraid to commit to things like meth or ecstasy. It was a cop-out drug, and a lot of people were willing to give the supposedly safer drug a hit or two before moving on to the next things. It was this very reason Caesar wanted to cook something stronger, but also the same reason Doflamingo picked it over anything else. He wanted a nice, steady flow of customers that would become addicted and buy from him for as long possible. Caesar only saw the money and ill effects of being addicted to a poison that could very well kill you after one hit.

Until recently Doflamingo didn't mind the smaller paychecks.

Now he had to think how he was going to run two different businesses. Vergo was off taking endurance tests in order to sell inside bases across the country, and Caesar was...doing whatever the hell Caesar did. Doflamingo felt comfortable with the two of them working in the drug business, and he didn't want to risk their well-being in order to help build up this new one, so he would have to find another few heads to help him work his black market.

But where to start?

Doflamingo raised his head and peered over the coffee table, staring at the notes he had written earlier in the morning. He sat himself upright and carefully leaned over the table, trying to grab the messy pile he had created without actually getting up from his seat. He made a few attempts at this before moving off the couch and resting halfway on the table, grabbing several of the sheets and falling right back into his seat. He read quietly at the scribbles he had made in a less sober state, taking in the wisdom of the few eligible lines that he could make out.

"I need a woman," he muttered to himself. Someone who could lure ignorant people into his trap? Someone who could attract both men and women? Someone with a nice, trustworthy disposition that no one would ever suspect was a criminal? Definitely a woman.

Doflamingo let the other sheets in his hand fall over his body as he continued to read his notes. She needed to be young, perhaps younger than him, but not younger than Violet otherwise he'd risk ending up on the offenders list. She would need to know, or would have to commit to learning, more than two other languages, perhaps Spanish and Chinese since they were the next two popular languages, in order to gather in more unsuspecting goods. She needed to be smart, but obedience was a must. Most importantly, she needed to be able to fit the role of a secretary, because most of what he had written was very hard to read, and Doflamingo didn't have the time to learn how to properly use a keyboard.

Doflamingo pondered for a few moments on the limitations of finding such a person in such a short time. He turned and stared at the pile of clothes that took up the other half of the couch and began to claw at it, tossing the mixture of clean and unclean articles all over the room as he dug through it in hopes of finding his laptop that he had "lost" several days prior (An organized mess! He really did know where everything was.) . Finally, Doflamingo pulled from the remaining pile a long cord, his charger. He carefully tugged at it, letting his hand travel across it before feeling the smooth top of his personal PC. He yanked the laptop free from its prison and opened it up, smiling gleefully when he was able to turn the thing on.

He could think of only one place where he could get whatever, or whomever he wanted without having to try too hard. Of course, with great privileges come terrifying risks. Doflamingo typed in the name of the site on his search bar, silently praying to God that he wouldn't end up catching the eyes of a bunch of weirdoes like he had the last time he had put up a personal ad. He knew he had no right to complain; Craigslist did give him Caesar after all.

He closed his laptop right before it died and, still retaining his smirk, got up from the couch and headed to his room. He carried his laptop with him, finding the first electric outlet located in the hallways, and left his device to gather energy for later use.

He was starting to feel better already. Being productive was such a wonderful thing!

Doflamingo went right into his closet and began to pick through the clothes that hung in the crowded space. He needed to wear something bright, something that would bring a permanent smile on his face for the rest of the day.

Doflamingo pulled out a long sleeved shirt from his array and threw it on the bed, giving one last stare into his messy wardrobe before settling with his choice. As he was about to undress he noticed something stand out in the corner of his eye, stopping him from what he was doing and drawing him to the dresser's mirror. He walked over and looked above the mirror, purposely avoiding his own reflection, and rested his gaze at the sunglasses that lay crookedly on top.

 _Why would I leave it here_ , he thought. He raised his arm and carefully removed the shades, bringing them to his chest before observing the colorful plastic, checking for any new signs of scratches. He stared at his distorted reflection, the true reality, and watched his eyes begin to shake and twitch with emotion.

It was getting to that point. Doflamingo knew he needed to fix himself up before completing all his goals. These long nights injecting himself with caffeine and stimulants, leaving him up all day and night, but leaving him very little conscious time to actually get anything important done, were beginning to take its toll on him. His mind supposedly ran better when it was at its most fragile state, but waking up without a clue to what had occurred prior was a stressful consequence. These sunglasses were important, one of a kind.

He needed to be careful. He needed to take better care of his things. It's hard to replace something once it was broken, hard to find something that is lost…lost out there, in the great, big world, alive…but!

Doflamingo rested his hand on the dresser, watching his reflection place the sunglasses on their respected spot, covering his weakened eyes with the intense orange spectacles that glimmered alongside his growing smile. He continued to stare at this familiar copy, the figure that he could relate to in this particular form, and as he felt a warm embrace within his chest, that strange looming guilt still clung around the air in his room, constantly reminding him of his past mistakes, the limitations of time, and that small chance that the world he currently fought against wasn't even real.

 _Oh, what if_ , he thought, _what…if Mihawk was right?_

He immediately pushed the thought aside, telling himself over and over again that such a thing couldn't be, but found it rather difficult to keep his head up, his posture confident, his smile on as he continued to reassure himself.

Doflamingo grabbed the shirt from the bed, letting the fabric wrinkle his constricted grasp as he let himself go and stare up into space. He viewed the world through colorful lenses for just a second, letting his guard lower, closing his eyes only after feeling his heart break and crumble under the stress of actions he couldn't undo, lips closing shut, the mind traveling far back to show him the signs he should have memorized as warnings.

What on earth was he to do with himself?

* * *

**-Then-**

The note Doflamingo had left underneath a small pile of rocks was gone. Last Sunday had been such a disappointment to him, but even though he was young and selfish, the boy had somehow managed to take a logical approach to the situation. Rather than getting too upset over the loss of the weekend, he had decided to try to reach out to the lost eleven year old, hoping to find out why he had wasted three days coming over to the desert and finding nothing. _And yet you arrived so early._

The note was gone, but there was still no Crocodile, and when Doflamingo thought about it more, he realized that just because the note had been taken didn't necessarily mean that the right person had found it, read it. He couldn't imagine who else would have traveled so far out here in the middle of May, when the giants rocks reached temperatures of over 00 degrees, and the sand burned the flesh of anyone who wasn't careful enough.

Admittedly Doflamingo worried that this might have happened. He had left the note late Sunday afternoon, promising to return not in Friday, but instead on Saturday, hoping that maybe Crocodile would return Friday, find no one, and feel the same dread the boy had placed on him for three days. Since there was no one waiting for him Doflamingo had no choice but to assume the worse, after all: Crocodile gave no home address, never spoke of home or his family, and would sometimes grow anxious when the younger boy tried to bring it up. There had been some suspicions growing in the back of Doflamingo's mind for a long time. He knew from conversations brought up at school that sometimes parents hurt their children, or parents would argue with each other in front of their kids, not realizing what they were doing was traumatizing to the young witnesses. Hell, on one occasion a police officer visited his class and talked about the rare, taboo occasion of parents or other family members engaging in "bad touching" with a child.

Doflamingo sucked the spit to the back of his throat, wondering if, perhaps, this was why Crocodile had not appeared. Maybe he was being hurt by a family member, and could not leave the house for some related reason?

The boy looked around the dry scenery, the back of his neck burning from the harsh sunlight, as he wondered how he should approach such a situation. There was little he could do but hope that the letter he had left last Sunday was in fact picked up by the older boy. Doflamingo removed his backpack and threw it on the ground, feeling bitter and hopeless, pulled out a spiraled journal and a pencil, and, growing all the more upset, began to write.

He spent only a few minutes writing out his fears, advice, and pleas before forcing himself up on his weak, shaking legs and walking over to the piled of rocks that once hid a box full of stolen allowances, lunch money, and a promise to leave this town. He laid the paper flat and visible, placing only one rock on top of the sheet. If Crocodile returned this would be the first thing he would see once he made his way down the hills.

Doflamingo quietly made his way back into the neighborhood, reflecting hard on his short life and how awful it was that he was so young and had little control over these sorts of things. He wanted nothing more than to impress the older boy with his accomplishments: winning fights and arguments at school, getting away with said arguments and fights at school, becoming tougher, stronger, biking over to the neighborhood instead of taking a bus, learning how to take what he wanted, whenever he wanted, and so on. What was going on? Where was Crocodile? Would Doflamingo go to being alone in this boring world again?

He slide down the large mound of sand and walked over to the house closest to the desert, pulling out the key to the lock that tied his bike to the gate. After dusting off his clothes, Doflamingo rode off.

His mind continued to wander aimlessly as he passed by rows of houses, making the occasional glance at each building in hopes of spotting a familiar face. He had never really thought about his relationship with Crocodile in a long term way. Two years and not once did Doflamingo ever wonder what would happen once they stopped hanging out together. The very thought stung his heart with something he couldn't describe, it made him feel nauseous and weak, made his eyes burn with wetness and fury.

Doflamingo made a sharp right, cutting across the neighborhood through the small park located at the very center. He slowed himself down, allowing himself better, safer access through the drying grass. As he passed the playground Doflamingo detected a stiff, dark movement in the corner of his eyes, and almost instinctively knowing who it was, turned his head, his legs halting and brining him to rough break.

The older boy stared back at him, eyes wide, but mouth his barely open, his left hand holding a folded sheet of paper, his right hand holding something in between his index finger and thumb.

Doflamingo felt a rush of relief fill his body.

"Crocodile," the boy called.

The older boy remained still. As Doflamingo moved in closer he could make out peculiar features that made him stand out more than usual. His hair wasn't pulled back, leaving several of his long bangs across his pale face, speaking of which; his face appeared almost colorless, his lips practically indistinguishable. It was hot, but the boy wore a dark flannel shirt over his regular clothing. There was nothing on his person. Once the younger boy was within a few feet from him, Doflamingo caught the quick flashed movement of something small dropping out of Crocodile's right hand, falling into the grass and disappearing from sight.

Doflamingo couldn't care less about the small "thing" that fell, focusing his attention on the older boy that had neglected him for three days. But he did see that there was something off about the boy, his paler than normal complexion being the most worrisome of all the signs.

"Are you ok?" he asked. He let his bike fall as he attempted to reach out and touch Crocodile. The boy backed away, using his free hand as a deterrent to Doflamingo's. The boy pulled his arm back, feeling more nervous as he watched Crocodile carefully tuck folded sheet of paper, which was thick and full of something dark, into his back pocket.

"Why didn't you show up?" Doflamingo asked.

"I wasn't feeling well," the boy answered.

"Are you sick?" he asked.

"You came early," the boy muttered. He turned away from Doflamingo, looking over his shoulder as though he were afraid someone might be watching. "You never come this early."

"I was worried," Doflamingo answered.

"Worried? About what?" there was something terribly cruel in his shaky voice, but Doflamingo did everything in his power to ignore it.

"You," Doflamingo said. His face tickled with unwanted heat. He watched Crocodile; still looking away from him, pull in his lips, closing his eyes, hearing his breath become loud and uneven. But he didn't cry. Crocodile never seemed to cry. Without a warning Doflamingo grabbed the older boys hand, his body shaking as he saw the older boy nearly jump from the sudden contact.

"What's wrong," Doflamingo asked. "Why are you acting so strange?"

Crocodile struggled to free his hand from the younger boy's grasp, but his strength wasn't at his best today. No, he was certainly weaker than normal. There was something wrong, but Doflamingo couldn't begin to guess what it was.

"I'm just not feeling good," Crocodile answered. "Just go back home." The cruelness that had tried to push Doflamingo away was gone and replaced with something shaky and weak, alerting the younger child that his worries were justified.

"Let me take you home," Doflamingo beckoned, tugging Crocodile closer towards him. "Please, I know you wanna keep it a secret…"

Somehow Crocodile managed to free himself once he heard Doflamingo offer his plea to help him, and the boy got to see, for the first time, a real look of fear on his face once he had brought up that forbidden subject.

"No!" Crocodile yelled. "I'm not going back there."

"Why not?"

Crocodile shook his head, covering his face with his arm. Doflamingo lurched forward, hoping to catch the sign of tears or sounds of whimpering, but was welcomed with silence.

Finally, Crocodile answered, "I'm not going back."

"But you don't feel good," Doflamingo argued. He looked down at the ground and tried to find whatever Crocodile had let fall from his hand. No sooner had he began to stare downward, Crocodile removed his arm and began to grow agitated.

"What are you doing?" he heard the older boy ask in an accusatory tone.

Doflamingo looked up at Crocodile, "You dropped something."

"So?" the boy asked.

Doflamingo wasn't used to this. Never had he experienced this side of the boy before. There was never a time before where Crocodile was so...frightened. But of what? Being sick? That couldn't possibly be it. Maybe he was being hurt; maybe that's why he refused to go home, even in his current state.

He looked down at the grass, then back at the older boy. "I don't want to leave you," he whined, allowing his voice to break right at the end.

"…Medicine," Crocodile answered.

"Medicine?" he asked.

Crocodile nodded his head, a small smile appearing on his pale face. "It was medicine. I'm sick, but I'll be ok." He folded his arm, but not before trying to fix his messy hair, and then proceeded to calm himself down. "I'm ok. I'm just...a little upset." He moved in front of Doflamingo, bending his legs just a little so that the two would make eye contact with one another.

And they did. Oh, what a mistake that was on Crocodile's part. He though he could fool the boy with his usual tricks, but after witnessing everything that had happened the past several minutes, Doflamingo knew better than to believe Crocodile, so when he did look into those gorgeous eyes he saw something that he had never saw before, and considering all those previous opportunities when he was lucky enough to stare into those eyes, and understanding that he was staring at the same person who really hadn't undergone some new change in his life, Doflamingo could help but feel ashamed of himself.

"Go home, Doflamingo," Crocodile said. "Come back next Friday."

"What about you?" Doflamingo asked, his eyes still locked into the deep void. "You didn't take your medicine."

Crocodile chuckled, so slow, so soft; it made Doflamingo shiver.

"I took enough," he said. "I'll be ok."

Doflamingo forced a smiled. "Why don't you stay with me? You can sleep over."

"Next time, I promise," Crocodile replied. It sounded like a lie.

"Please," Doflamingo cried.

Crocodile frowned. "Next time."

"Please, please," Doflamingo begged. "You can't stay out. You didn't bring anything with you. You'll get thirsty, and you wont have anything to drink. When you're sick you're supposed to drink lots of stuff." Doflamingo once again latched on to Crocodile, wrapping his thin arms around the boy's slim body, half his face buried in clothing that was strangely cool, the other half peering up at a now uncomfortable looking child.

"I can't go," Crocodile whispered. Doflamingo felt Crocodile's arms jerks, his stomach making a strange sound. Crocodile looked paler.

"Am I hurting you?" he asked, looking up with fright.

"No," Crocodile lied. Doflamingo eased his grasp on the older child. Crocodile didn't push him away this time. The young blonde took a step back and held on to Crocodile's hand, feeling himself grow calm when he pulled and the older boy, despite his lethargic state, move forward. Doflamingo would have treated this as a victory, but then heard a soft hiccup from the boy and turned to see Crocodile fighting tears.

"What's wrong?" Doflamingo asked, already forgetting the pointless attempt he had made just before.

But this time Crocodile answered, red eyed, voice shaking from frustration. "You're making things harder…"

* * *

Some time in between the bus ride home and sneaking past security and into the neighborhood filled with two, three story houses that all looked the same, Crocodile's condition deteriorated and Doflamingo began to worry over how he would make his dear friend feel any better.

Crocodile, lying silently on Doflamingo's messy bed, refused any food that was offered to him; even the candy that Doflamingo charmed the maid to give him was ignored and treated with disdain. Doflamingo had no sweet drinks that the older boy would drink, and Crocodile wouldn't even try to drink the juice and milk he had brought up. It was odd, but then again Doflamingo wasn't all that hungry himself, the strange predicament he was in had stolen his appetite.

"Want to play with the Nintendo?" Doflamingo asked.

Crocodile shook his head, curling himself and wrapping his arms around his shaking legs. He stared at Doflamingo, and then past Doflamingo, thinking about something for a few mintues while the child waited patiently for him to speak, then blinking a few times before finally admitting, "I need water."

"Water?" Doflamingo repeated. "You sure?" Water was boring, had no taste. He had never even seen Crocodile drink water before.

"Mhmm," Crocodile answered.

Doflamingo rushed down the stairs for the umpteenth time, skipping past the maid who didn't seem to notice the boy's strange behavior, giving the large living room window a quick glance to assure that his mother's car wasn't parked, and then hurried into the kitchen to get the water. When he returned Crocodile's eyes were closed, his legs, though somewhat tucked in, were freed and his arms now holding on to his lower stomach. Doflamingo dropped to his knees, placed the water carefully on the floor, and gave Crocodile a rough shake.

The boy slowly opened his eyes. Whatever was there before was gone; his eyes were showing new signs of life, but Doflamingo wasn't going to forget what he had seen before.

He smiled. "I got water," he said, lifting the glass and offering it to the boy. Crocodile forced himself up and took the glass, making a snide remark on how Doflamingo chose to fill it all the way to the top, causing some of it to spill on his jeans, but then finally drank from the glass. Doflamingo watched with interest as Crocodile closed his eyes and forced the entire drink down his throat, taking a deep breath when he finally finished. He handed the glass back to Doflamingo while his left hand held on to his stomach. His arms were very shaky.

"Where's your bathroom?" he asked. He took another deep breath and stared at the empty glass. "I'm going to need more water."

Doflamingo lead Crocodile quietly down the hall, making sure the creeks of the wood flooring weren't too loud to attract attention. Once he showed the boy the entrance to the restroom Doflamingo went back downstairs to refill the glass, feeling better about the situation now that Crocodile was drinking something. When he came back up he noticed the door to the bathroom was still closed, and the bathroom light on, so he went back to his room and waited, leaving the glass on top of his messy dresser drawer.

He walked around his room, picking some of his neglected toys from the floor and finding a respectable place for them to be hidden until Crocodile was well enough to leave. He had always hoped the boy would come over his place, but all of this was so sudden that he felt some embarrassment at the current state of his room. Doflamingo went over to his bed and attempted to make it up, stopping midway when he heard the door to his room open.

"Where did you put the glass?" Crocodile asked. Doflamingo was surprised to see that Crocodile looked worse than he had previously before entering the restroom. His face was flushed and his whole body seemed to shake. He pointed to the dresser and watched the boy take the glass and, like before, consume the entire drink in one sitting.

"Are you thirsty?" he asked. "Do you need more water?"

"I'm fine," Crocodile said. He placed the glass back on the dresser and then sat himself back on the bed. Doflamingo crawled closer to the older boy till they sat only inches from each other.

"Crocodile?"

"What?"

"Can I ask you a question?" Doflamingo muttered.

Crocodile shrugged. "Fine."

"Do you hate your home?"

Crocodile sighed. "Is that why you think I'm here with you?"

"No…it's just that you're sick, but you wont go home," Doflamingo said. "Are your parents mean to you? Is it bad there?"

"No," Crocodile said, staring at the television littered with wire from all the consoles that were attached to the bottom of it. "It's different. You're too young to understand. "

"You don't trust me," Doflamingo corrected.

"It doesn't matter," Crocodile said. "I'll have to go home now, and I'll probably get in trouble." He clasped his hands together and covered his face. "Everything is ruined. You should have just left me alone."

"I can't do that."

"Why not?" Crocodile asked.

"Because you're my best friend," Doflamingo answered hesitantly.

"…oh."

"It's scary," Doflamingo said. "What if I left you, and you're sick, and you have nothing with you, and…and what if you ended up dead?" He wiped at his face before the older boy could see him tear up, not wanting to diminish any more respect he had lost today. "That's really stupid, going out when it's really hot, in all those clothes, with nothing to drink. And you're sick. Why would you do that?"

Crocodile stood up and headed out the room without saying a word to Doflamingo. The younger boy took the time offered to him and tried to calm himself down. Oh, it was just so scary. What would he do if he lost Crocodile?

The boy returned with a flushed face, wiping his mouth and staggering back to the bed. Doflamingo wanted to continue to reprimand the boy, but felt his pain immediately fade once Crocodile fell upon the bed, looking more tired than ever. The bed that he had tried to make up was then wrinkled as the boy kicked off his chucks and covered his cold body with the top sheet, wrapping himself up tight and covering most of his face.

"You're cold?" Doflamingo asked, confused. It was hot. It made no sense.

"Very," the boy answered.

"Your breath smells funny," Doflamingo pointed out. "Like pennies and sour stuff."

"I'm sorry."

"Huh?"

"For making you worry," Crocodile muttered, moving the sheets around him and covering the rest of his face. "I just wish you hadn't shown up."

"That's mean."

"That's the truth," the boy whispered. He rolled over, resting on his stomach. "I hate this."

"What do you hate?" Doflamingo asked.

"Everything," his answer muffled through the sheets.

"Do you hate me?" _No._

The sheets moved. "No."

The boy remained sitting, watching the movement beginning to dwindle as Crocodile began to rest. It wasn't that hard, he didn't want to talk to the older boy anymore, and Crocodile's silence reassured him that the older boy preferred not to speak either. After ten minutes of keeping still, Doflamingo was welcomed with the calm, rhythmic sound of a sleeping beauty.

He almost forgot how upset he had been when he crawled closer to that resting body, watching the rising sheets with every inhale, how they shielded Crocodile from the rest of the world. It was strange, very strange, because as Doflamingo stared at this rolled up cocoon all he could think about was how "funny" it would be if he tried to peel away the layers cloaking the older boy. Not the just the bed cover or the sheets, but also other things as well. He wasn't entirely sure what he wanted to see from Crocodile, just that there was this urge to keep the boy in his barest form, and have it all in such a way that the two of them, but mostly Doflamingo, would be happy. That "funny" feeling continued to tickle him till it reached a lower, more sacred spot, causing Doflamingo to silently panic and push these "funny" ideas out of his head. It didn't stop him from getting all the more closer though. The boy rested himself next to Crocodile, his small hands reaching out and moving away some of the covering.

Crocodile no longer looked flushed. He touched the boy's cheek. It wasn't so cold. The water must have really helped.

_And wouldn't it be funny if you kissed him on the lips? Like the adults do?_

Doflamingo answered this thought with a hushed "no," telling himself that was impossible to do since only boys and girls kissed each other like that. Even as he closed his eyes the terrible fantasy played in his head over and over, making the act of falling asleep a terrible chore.

* * *

It was the heat that got Doflamingo to wake up, late in the afternoon. He saw that he was being covered with the sheets, which told him that sometime during his sleep Crocodile must have decided to share. He sat up, stretching his arms and looking over to his left, spotting Crocodile still resting next to him, though his back was now facing him. He didn't look the same as he did before. He was still pale, but didn't look so bad. He wasn't shivering anymore, and he was warm.

Doflamingo yawned. He looked over to the mass of games he had offered Crocodile to play with him hours before and decided to do that while he waited for the older boy to reawaken. Maybe once Crocodile woke up he'd be in a better mood to play, assuming he still wasn't too sick to play. Doflamingo pulled his legs closer to him, feeling something brush against his leg. He moved the sheets aside and stared at two round, red pills _. Iron._ He picked each one up and continued to canvas the bed, finding another right next to the opening of Crocodile's back pockets. _Iron pills_.

He stared at the small red pills, amused at how they resembled something like candy, and almost felt compelled to give it one a quick lick before remembering that it may have been a while since Crocodile last took one. He did recall him saying that he had taken a lot of pills beforehand, but Doflamingo chose to be safe and decided to risk a smack and wake the older boy.

"Crocodile," Doflamingo said, grabbing the shoulder poking though the blue blankets. He skin was warm to the touch now: it made Doflamingo smile. "Hey, Crocodile, wake up."

The boy groaned, pushing sheets away and welcoming Doflamingo with a threatening glance. But once both eyes were open Doflamingo offered his hand to Crocodile, exposing the three red pills to his face.

"Your medicine," Doflamingo said, smiling at the boy whose eyes were locked on to the small, round– _deadly_ –pills. "You need to take your medicine so you'll get better."

Crocodile's stared into Doflamingo's palm, his mouth opening as if he were about to say something, but nothing came out as he then looked down, lowering his head slowly, looking away from Doflamingo as his arm reached out and took the "medicine" from Doflamingo.

"Thank you," he muttered. _You've failed._

Doflamingo grinned. "Do you want some more water?"

_You're alive._


	4. The First Pair and No More Pirates

**-Part 1-**

**-Then-**

Although the shoebox was still left open and empty Doflamingo remained calm as he passed by the neglected remnants of Crocodile's buried treasure, making his way further into the desert where some large rocks lay. He pulled the sleeves of his school uniform up, letting the heat prickle against his light skin, as to not let himself get _too_ dirty. Although his mother never had to clean she always found ways to complain about his less than sterile lifestyle.

From a distance he could make out a figure that was sitting against one of the larger boulders, hiding underneath the bit of shade that the dessert offered. A small smile crept it's way on to Dolfamingo's face as he hurried over to the heated landmarks, kicking up sand and allowing it to rest on his uniform.

Doflamingo stopped several feet away from Crocodile, letting the dust cloud around him fall as to not get any on the older boy. He hastily dusted himself down and walked the rest of the way, noting that the boy sitting on the shaded sand was not looking his way, but instead either wring or drawing in his notebook. He also noticed that, although Crocodile did have drinks with him, his backpack was missing. It was strange, especially since it was a Friday, but at the very least Crocodile was appropriately prepared for the harsh weather.

He stopped just inches in front of the older boy. "You're here!"

Crocodile didn't look up, but continued to work in his spiraled notebook. Doflamingo could see a twitch at the ends of the boy's lips.

"Hey," he said.

Crocodile frowned, refusing to respond.

"…are you ignoring me?" Doflamingo asked, leaning to a squat and pouting at the boy. Crocodile's refusal to answer hinted this was the case and Doflamingo bit his lower lip in offense, bringing himself up and taking a step back.

"What did I do?!" he whined.

Of course there was no response other than Crocodile pressing his pencil against the notebook with noticeable force.

"You can't ignore me forever!" Doflamingo complained. He waited a few seconds before quickly adding, "It's not fair. I didn't even do anything!"

Crocodile didn't bother to look up at him, only continuing to draw in his notebook and silently pretend the younger boy wasn't there.

"Did you get into trouble?" Doflamingo asked; leaning in close and purposely letting his warm breath hit the boy's head. "Huhhhh?"

Crocodile's eyes peered up, making brief contact with Doflamingo's before the boy uttered a low growl, lowering his head further from the boy.

Doflamingo whined again, this time kicking the sand in front of Crocodile, risking an attack from the older boy as he continued to pester him into speaking. He watched Crocodile throw his notebook to the side and wave his arms about, trying to push away the cloud of hot dust from his face. Doflamingo hoped to get some verbal response from Crocodile, but was instead met with the hard impact of a half filled can of Coke. He fell to the ground, hissing and holding in another whine as he wiped his forehead covered in soda. He looked down at his uniform and stared dismayed at the brown stain on his shirt.

"What the hell!" Doflamingo groaned. He pulled himself back up and ran towards Crocodile, reaching out and grabbing several long, violet locks and pulling them roughly, forcing Crocodile's face right into his Coke stained shirt.

"Heyyy!" Crocodile yelled, smacking Doiflamingo's sides and he attempted to free himself from Doflamingo's grasp. Doflamingo held on tight, only pulling the boy's hair more when he felt the hard smacks against his waist.

"Dammit, let me go!"

"No!" Doflamingo yelled. "Say you're sorry!" Right as he made the demand Crocodile changed tactics and hit Doflamingo's lower stomach with his left fist. The boy coughed, but held on, kicking up more sand in hopes of temporary blinding his bigger, stronger friend.

"Ugh, let me go!" Crocodile made another attempt, this time raising his arms up and grabbing hold of Doflamingo's, letting his nails dig into the boy's peached skin. Doflamingo yelped, holding in tears as he tried to quickly think up a way out of this predicament.

"Let go Doflamingo!"

Doflamingo looked down at his reddened arms and briefly considered the pain he was in and thought that perhaps giving in to Crocodile's demands was a good idea. There was a good chance that the older boy would probably kick his ass, but at the very least he wasn't being ignored anymore.

"Let go of my hair!" Another blow to the stomach, this time too strong for Doflamingo hold against. He let go of Crocodile and fell to the ground, his back landing right on top of several small rocks while Crocodile smacked the back of his head against the boulder, both of them whining and whimpering in pain.

"…you fight like a girl," Doflamingo heard Crocodile remark. He stopped rubbing his injured body and sat himself upright and stared at the older boy leaning against the giant rock, nursing his aching head with both his hands.

"You ignored me," Doflamingo said. "And you threw a can at me!"

"You kicked sand in my face!" Crocodile spat back.

"Cause you wouldn't talk to me!" Doflamingo yelled. He rubbed his sides and stared down at his uniform, which was now covered in a nice layer of sand, bits of gravel, dried up twigs and weeds, and soda. "I'm going to get into so much trouble now," he muttered.

"Good," Crocodile said, having caught the boy's quiet remark.

Doflamingo looked up and glared at Crocodile. "Just cause you get into trouble doesn't mean you have to be such a jerk about it!"

Crocodile chuckled, "Am I hurting your feelings?"

Doflamingo huffed. This sort of sadism wasn't unusual with Crocodile, but having it directed at him made bearing with the older boy's negative personality harder, especially coming from a long week of worrying about him. Although his overall health greatly improved, Crocodile has been abnormally passive and silent throughout his stay at Doflamingo's, growing all the more anxious and spastic as the sun set into night. Since his own parents cared little to visit their son's room, Doflamingo himself allowed the boy to stay the rest of the night, hoping that the sleepover would provoke the boy to confess personal mysteries that bugged the younger child.

He had hardly learned a thing. Most of the night was spent with Crocodile distracting Doflamingo away from such questions, and Doflamingo, having always wanted to be the one to entertain Crocodile, fell for it all. It was a real shame that he never noticed how little involved the boy actually was when he played games with him, how he would constantly look out the window with much aspiration, what kind Doflamingo still couldn't tell; those golden eyes hardly ever locking with what was going occurring on the screen. Doflamingo was stupid enough to believe he was beating the boy at just about every game they played.

After begging the maid to provide several helpings of ice cream, which Doflamingo suspected had the properties necessary to fix an upset stomach (he had noticed it was the one thing Crocodile held on to the most during his worst), the two dined and Crocodile would appear at his best out of the entire night. It was around this time Doflamingo had forgotten his goal of learning more about his friend and had simply begun to talk about whatever came across his mind. He'd ask childish questions, most of them having to do with Crocodile in some way, and some of them having to do with his own life, but none of them were deep enough to lead the older boy into panic. He asked questions about school, the difference between his and Crocodile's, about books, pirates, money, oceans, animals, and all other things currently clung to his mind.

They went to bed late. Doflamingo remembered trying to think of a way to casually reach out and hold on to Crocodile. It mattered little; whenever he stirred Crocodile would nudge him away, and roughly too. _Touching leads to dangerous surprises._

Sometime before he had fallen asleep Doflamingo had gathered enough courage to ask Crocodile about the comment he had made earlier in the day regarding his contempt for his home. His last attempt had failed, but he hoped the warmth of the covers, as well the hospitality he had provided all day, would have softened Crocodile to give him some sort of answer.

He asked Crocodile what was going to happen to him now. The boy had said he wouldn't ever go back home, and although it was a dream that Doflamingo wished he could have made come true, even he knew that such a thing was impossible. He remembered Crocodile once telling him to leave a letter should he ever run away, so that his parents would learn a lesson, and thought about the letter Crocodile must have left for his parents. And unlike Doflamingo, Crocodile had so far successfully done a good job in teaching that lesson; right now his parents had no idea where their son was, and were being emotionally tormented by whatever cruel words Crocodile had chosen to leave behind. But Crocodile would have to go back home now. And there was no way he'd get away with this unpunished.

Crocodile had answered softly, "I don't know what will happen now."

And now, several days later, Crocodile sat in the middle of a desert, renewed and no longer showing signs of sickness, his arms crossed as he stared smugly up at Doflamingo, his thin lips glued together as he laughed through his nose, taking delight in the younger boys struggle to keep cool.

Doflamingo sighed. "No," he lied.

"I'm surprised you haven't gotten expelled yet," Crocodile remarked, eyeing the boy's stained clothes. "You say you're always getting into fights," he rubbed his head as he uttered the words, "so unless you're losing them, then there's something going on."

"I'm not a loser," Doflamingo quickly warned.

"Are you lying to me?"

"Nuh-uh," he answered almost as quickly as before.

"Then why are you still going to that school?" Crocodile asked.

"My parents don't want me going to a normal school," Doflamingo answered. "They said I couldn't. They said it's beneath me…"

Crocodile smirked, "so your mommy and daddy are bailing you out?" He laughed, picking up a handful of sand and throwing it in Doflamingo's direction, the wind carrying it out of the way and saving Doflamingo the trouble of even more dirt on his stained uniform. Nevertheless, the child blushed from hearing this and stomped over to Crocodile, pushing the boy right back into the boulder and letting his head once again smack against it.

"Ow! Dammit, Doflamingo!" Crocodile hissed, smacking the boy right on his sore side.

"Why are you so angry today," Doflamingo coughed, managing to hold his own and not fall from the stinging impact.

"None of your business," the older boy answered.

"I don't want you ignoring me," Doflamingo said in a threatening tone. "It's not fair. I didn't do anything…stop acting like I'm the one who made you run away from home. You did. Not me."

"God, you're so annoying," Crocodile said.

"At least I'm not some retard who goes out to the desert when he's sick…and doesn't bring anything with him!" Doflamingo added. He stared down at Crocodile's side, once again realizing that the boy's backpack was not with him.

"Don't you call me a retard," the older boy threatened.

"Yeah, well, guess who didn't bring their backpack with them again?" Doflamingo asked with a cruel grin. "You called me dumb for leaving without food or water, but you did the same twice!"

Crocodile frowned. Doflamingo watched gleefully as the boy struggled to keep his composure, finally giving in with a sigh and responding, "Yeah…but…I don't have my backpack."

"What, did you lose it?" Doflamingo asked with a haughty laugh.

"No." Crocodile lowered his head, hiding the growing scowl on his face. "My mom took it." Almost after saying this Crocodile seemed to soften and looked over to his notebook, grabbed it, and reopened it, his right hand shifting through the sand, searching for the pencil he had lost.

"Why?" Doflamingo asked.

Crocodile didn't answer. He let his notebook rest on his raised legs as his left hand began to aid the right in the search for the lost pencil. Crocodile keep his eyes glued on the notebook.

"Stop ignoring me!" Doflamingo yelled.

Crocodile raised his head up, visibly biting his tongue as he withheld the urge to stand up and smack the blonde.

"She took it cause she thought I wouldn't leave without it!" Crocodile answered, his voice nearly breaking from the sudden scream. "Alright, now shut up!"

So Crocodile was being punished for his last attempt to get back at his family, or at least his mother was. Doflamingo sucked on his bottom lip as he tried to think of how such a punishment would work, after all; Crocodile needed his backpack in order to get to school, so how was he without one now? Doflamingo turned his head and stared at the serene scene of heat arising from the desert ground, further asking himself whether or not Crocodile's father had a say in this strange punishment. He wanted to ask Crocodile, but wasn't sure if he would get an answer, let alone a satisfying one. That, and his last question seemed to have genuinely upset the older boy.

"That sucks," he muttered, looking back at Crocodile.

"She's stupid," Crocodile responded, letting a finger rub against the innards of his notebook. "She couldn't stop me from leaving even if she really tried."

Doflamingo frowned. "Did she take it after you left school?"

Crocodile looked up at Doflamingo, his eyes dull and grave.

"I haven't been to school," he said.

"You haven't?"

"Not all week," he answered.

"Did you get sicker?" Doflamingo asked worryingly.

Crocodile cupped his hands together and covered his mouth, shaking his head at the younger boy. He closed his eyes for several seconds, appearing as though he was preparing to say something to explain this, but when he opened his eyes Doflamingo could see that the boy had regretted confession this strange piece of information and refrained from speaking further on the matter. _Tell me._

"That's weird," Doflamingo said. "But you got to stay home all week, so that must have been nice, right?"

The eleven year old groaned aloud.

"Will you get in trouble with the school?" he asked.

Crocodile stiffly shook his head. "I'm excused," he muttered.

Doflamingo nod his head and then continued to watch the older boy, waiting for him to go back to being cocky and unlikable. But this time Crocodile seemed bothered by something, his eyes continuously looking away as though his mind were preoccupied with something other than the drawings in his notebook.

"Crocodile," Doflamingo said, his voice sincere and hands swaying softly on his sore side.

"What?"

"I'm sorry for pulling your hair," he said.

Crocodile stare blankly at Doflamingo, not entirely sure what to make out of the sudden apology. Such a thing was rare in his young life, and would not occur at higher frequencies till he was much older, when all the secrets were out. "…I'm sorry I threw a can of Coke at you," he finally managed to mutter out after a long, awkward silence.

Doflamingo, no longer worried about the statues of his uniform, sat himself right next to Crocodile, taking in the limited amount of shade there was, and stared at the brutal interpretation that the older boy had scribbled while he was out.

"Crocodile," Doflamingo asked while eyeing the picture, "what did you do with all your treasure?"

Crocodile frowned, turning the page and starting a fresh new depiction. "It's all at home now," he answered.

"Will you bury it again?" Doflamingo asked.

"…I don't think so," he answered. "It was really stupid to leave it all out here."

"But I thought you did it because it was cool," the boy said. "You liked it."

"Just because I like something doesn't mean it's a good idea," Crocodile replied. He pressed the pencil hard against the sheet of paper, dragging a dark line in between the half made figure's legs. "Besides, playing pirates, that's for babies."

Doflamingo frowned. "I really like that game. Stealing money and burying it was so much fun."

"I'll give you your share tomorrow," Crocodile answer without looking at the child's disappointed expression.

"I don't you to just give it to me," Doflamingo whined. Crocodile didn't say a word, only continuing to work on his strange work. Doflamingo made another glimpse at it and figured the boy was trying to correct the mistake he had made between the person's legs, now that there was a dark line between them. But instead he watched Crocodile bring his pencil down and frantically thicken the line, letting the jagged mark grow and crash into a dark puddle that swarmed around the characters legs. It looked terrible, nothing he had seen the boy do before.

"You should erase it," Doflamingo said. "It looks like her guts are falling out…"

"….maybe they are," Crocodile said.

"Nuh-uh," the boy said, pointing at the thickened line. "You draw much better insides than this!" He smiled. "You're just being lazy."

"Am I…," the boy muttered. He stared at the picture and shook his head. "I'm not going to change it."

"…what will you do with the treasure?" Doflamingo asked.

"Save it," the boy responded automatically. He lifted his pencil to the head and let it hover as he thought up an expression to add.

"Just saving?" Doflamingo rested his head against the warm rock and stared up, "how are we gonna get things if we cant spend money?"

"You can spend your money," Crocodile said. "I'm not. I can't spend it right now." He removed the pencil from the picture and let it rest on the sand, leaving the strange, unknown figure without a face. "I need to save it for something."

"What is it?" Doflamingo asked, his eyes glowing with curiosity.

Crocodile closed his notebook and stood up, stretching his arms out in the sunlight. Doflamingo watched in his usual fascination as he glimpsed bits of bare skin while the boys arms were raised, his mind soaking in endorphins as he began to wonder and realize that things had somehow went back to normal. Everything that had occurred the previous weekend was now just some unwanted memory that could easily be erased. Crocodile was in trouble, but despite this he had still managed to get here on his own. Even though they had just fought, things were still ok. Crocodile wasn't going to spend his money and wasn't going to hide his treasure in their private wonderland, but things were still going to be ok.

"Doflamingo," Crocodile said, his hand holding the pencil and notebook. Doflamingo stared at the few articles and felt himself pout, worried that their meeting would be cut short.

"What," he asked hesitantly.

"What's the one thing in the world that you'd really like to have?" Crocodile asked. He gripped the notebook tighter and brought it to his chest, where his other arm met with his right. "The one thing that would make you really, really happy?" he asked desperately. _Did you really think you could buy that happiness?_

Doflamingo assumed this had something to do with what Crocodile wanted to purchase. _Correct._ Of course, whatever he would say, he was sure Crocodile would only ridicule as being less important as what he wanted. _Also true._ What did the boy want to buy? What did he want to buy? What would make him happy, _very happy_?

* * *

Doflamingo's answer, as with any answer to a question raised by Crocodile, of course was met with some insult. Crocodile refused to believe and accept the boy's response as being genuine, but after some long, drawn out argument brought by Doflamingo, Crocodile softened up and bit and nod his head, giving in the boy's answer and even deciding to go ahead and fulfill that desire.

Doflamingo was only too pleased to hear this. There were very few things that would have made him so happy. Although he was gifted with many material things, he really only required a few things to please him. One of these things was Crocodile, which he had. The other thing was a certain object that had he had admired from afar, never having quite enough money to get on his own.

"Which one do you like?" Crocodile asked.

The two of them stood in front of a small, local supermarket, with Doflamingo being hoisted up by Crocodile. Doflamingo squint his eyes, looking through the window and making out the row of colored spectacles that were adorned in the corner of the store, next to the makeup department, it's very location making the heist-to-be rather tricky in nature. There were sunglasses in an array of different shades and shapes, each one appealing to Doflamingo in some way or another. But he knew because of his size and his less than delicate lifestyle that picking a more expensive pair was probably not a good idea. He wanted to prove to Crocodile that he really meant it when he said he would be happy with a pair, and picking something sturdy to survive him was something to consider. He really did the like ones with the purples shades, or the nice looking red ones... maybe another day.

"The thick rimmed ones look pretty cool," Doflamingo said.

"What color?" Crocodile struggled to ask underneath him.

"Black," Doflamingo said.

"What row?" Crocodile coughed.

"Uhm…five!" Doflamingo answered.

"Alright," Crocodile said, suddenly dropping the younger body. Doflamingo struggled to keep balance as the older boy shook his arms out. He was then handed five dollars, money that would not be spent on the sunglasses, but made to achieve the planned theft.

"Remember what I told you," Crocodile said. "You need to be very serious about this."

"I know," Doflamingo said with a wide, excited grin.

He went in first. Doflamingo made his way directly to the cashier, keeping his face a straight as he could, pretending his clothes weren't stained with a day's worth of sweat, dirt, grime, and that half filled can of Coke. He waited in line, keeping his eyes away from the front entrance where Crocodile would soon be walking through, and patiently waited for his turn. He then walked up the clerk, an older woman, and, raising the money up to her, with an innocent smile glued to his face, asked, "excuse me, _Miss_ , may I please have a pack of cigarettes?"

This, of course, arose a big enough distraction for Crocodile to take the glasses without being noticed. Although the makeup department was just one aisle away from the cashier the boy was able to pick the pair that Doflamingo had described to him, yank the tag off, and place the sunglasses on him (they fit his face almost perfectly), and walk out of the store without bringing any attention. Doflamingo, on the other hand, was forced into an interrogation as to why a child his age wanted dangerous drugs. He did his part and lied when he had to, making sure to add on as much time as he thought necessary. It only took Crocodile a minute to grab them and leave, but the younger child was stuck in the store for nearly five minutes before let go with a warning.

Once out Doflamingo walked through the town until he hit the liquor store where Crocodile was, waiting for his five dollars, and Doflamingo eager to take the shaded spectacles, ran to him, jumping up and down once he was close enough.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" he cried, greedily snatching the sunglasses from the boy. He placed them on his face, not caring that they began to slip over his small nose.

"They're too big," he heard Crocodile say.

"I'll get bigger," Doflamingo said, swinging his head to Crocodile and nearly losing the glasses from that simple action. He pushed them back up and stared through the new, darkened world. He saw Crocodile look back at him, his expression somehow changed through the shades perception.

"So, you like them?" Crocodile asked.

"Uh-huh!" Doflamingo said. He let his fingers grab hold of the shining plastic as he continued to push the sunglasses up to his face.

"You better take care of them," Crocodile said. "I'm pretty sure they had cameras. We might not be allowed to go back there."

He opened his hand to Doflamingo, who then handed the boy his money. As the two made their back into the neighborhood Doflamingo continued to fondle his new prize, ever the more grateful for Crocodile as he stared up at the sky, the houses, and eventually the park. He thought once more about the comment Crocodile had said, and then wondered what sort of thing Crocodile wanted to buy himself, and then questioned if he could help Crocodile just as they boy had helped him. _Yes._

Doflamingo didn't ask because he knew Crocodile would only say "no" to his suggestion. He knew he'd have to wait a while before he could earn his way into aiding the boy that way. It was hard enough to get him to come over to his house without Crocodile nearly breaking down, it would be even harder to get him to admit that he might need help buying whatever it was he wanted to buy. Still, there was something he had to ask.

"How much does it cost?" Doflamingo asked.

"What?" Crocodile said, stopping.

"What you want to buy?" Doflamingo asked, continuing onward till he was just ahead of Crocodile. "How much will it cost for you go get it?"

He shrugged. "I don't really know."

"Then how will you know you have enough to get it?" the boy asked, pushing up the sunglasses again.

The older boy crossed his arms, letting the notebook he held dangle between a few fingers as he stared out, not entirely sure himself.

"How long do you think it will take for you to save enough?" Doflamingo then asked; only making Crocodile more silent as he tried to think up a reasonable answer that would satisfy both of them.

Crocodile sighed. "Hopefully not too long…" He looked nervous as he said those words. Doflamingo chose not to continue to conversation, deciding to focus on the start of a brand new cycle, him and his new treasure, and celebrate that things had almost gone back the way they were before.

The two went to the very end of the park where Doflamingo had left his bike chained. He wanted to stay at the park, knowing quite well that the desert would no longer hold the fun and secrets as before, but Crocodile refused to remain there. There were playgrounds and trees at the park, and there was hardly a thing out in the desert anymore, Doflamingo had argued. The rocks were too hot. There was hardly any shade. The scorpions and tarantulas were hiding this time of the day. There was no treasure to protect. What was the point of spending the hottest parts of the day in such a lonely place?

"I like it there," Crocodile said.

"Just stay here and draw something," Doflamingo said. He remembered the faceless woman and grabbed the boy's arm. "You can finish your picture."

"The stupid picture is already done," Crocodile said. "I don't want to draw and I can't stay here. I already told you I wasn't supposed to leave."

Doflamingo had listened carefully to those last words and put it together to mean that Crocodile must live very close, if not right next to, the park. No sooner had this entered his mind did he suddenly give glances around the neighborhood that enveloped the park and wonder which one they boy might be living in.

"I'm leaving," Crocodile said.

Doflamingo stopped. "Don't go," he said. "We can stay at the very back…"

Crocodile looked frustrated from the incessant whining that Doflamingo continued to throw at him, but rather than say something cruel, or even start another fight, Crocodile chose to perform another one of those rare decision that he would hardly ever do. Part of this was simple because he had had enough of Doflamingo and had grown tired of dealing with him, another part was because–or at least Doflamingo like to think so–he cared about Doflamingo enough to let him in on what was going on, not enough to really know what was going on, but enough to not upset the boy.

So Crocodile told him that valuable piece of information that he ought to have told the boy some hours prior to this wonderful day. Because, by telling him now, after everything the boy had experienced, he was essentially tearing apart everything Doflamingo had theorized about that day.

"We're not going to hang out on Friday anymore." And Doflamingo couldn't find the strength to fix the position of his sunglasses.

 _Oh, the horror_. Things were changing.

* * *

**-Now-**

Doflamingo sat outside a small coffee shop, sipping on his chocolate, skimmed cappuccino, waiting for the young woman who had responded to his personal add. Once in a while he would hear a loud "cling" or "clang" from behind him, all of this caused by Vergo's terrible eating habits, and he would grow somewhat nervous and ask himself if bringing the older man was a good idea. He wanted to make sure this possible, new associate would work well within his industry, and thought it appropriate to bring Vergo along and listen in on the conversation. The man had a weekend break from his training, so although Doflamingo could very well dismiss Vergo from the interview, it would have been an offensive waste of the older man's time, and Doflamingo wasn't sure he could bear with that. There was nothing worse than wasting time.

"Doflamingo Donquixote?"

He raised his eyes up, looking though the small space of his lowered sunglasses and stared at a young woman with dyed green hair and large, thick glasses.

"You're Monet?" he asked, smiling and lowering his cup.

She gave a quick nod. She removed her glasses and let them hang on her tank top. Doflamingo couldn't help but notice her pale skin, all the more serene once he stared at those pinkish lips performing the flirtatious smirk.

"May I?" she asked, pointing at the chair in front of the round table where he sat. He quickly noticed the French accent and gave into a smirk, gesturing her to relax as he pulled his cup from the center of the table, allowing her the necessary space.

Once she was seated he dove right in, giving her no opportunity to think too much on answers. He wanted a woman that could lie, but he wanted someone he knew everything about.

"Where are you from?" he asked.

"Quebec," she answered smoothly.

Canada was neither as exotic or as arousing as France, but it was close enough for her to almost be an American in nature.

"Quebec's very far from California," Doflamingo commented.

"Call me a fan of the American Dream," she responded.

Doflamingo chuckled, leaning in and letting his chair hit the back of Vergo's. He heard the sound glass hitting the floor and breaking, but managed not to react to it.

"Is that why you responded?" he asked. "You think I'll make your dreams come true?"

"I'll make my own dreams come true," she said, still smiling confidently at Doflamingo. She picked up the menu resting on the table and lifted it to her face, but kept her eyes on him, not breaking away from any eye contact. She was good.

"How old are you?" he asked.

"Sixteen," she answered. "Too young to stay at your place, I presume?"

"No, you're old enough," he said. "But do you have any family members looking for you?" He clasped his hands together, carefully watching Monet as he she dropped the menu, allowing him to look for any twitching muscles, evading eyes, sweat.

"I have no family," she answered stoically.

"None at all?"

"No," she said. "Other than my age, you really have little to worry about." She fixed her tank top and relaxed her arms on the table. "I'm an adult on my Visa, and I have the right to work under any profession you choose to mark. I'm bilingual, which was one of your criteria, I've been described as trustworthy, and I have always taken my jobs seriously."

"How many jobs could a sixteen year old have held?"

She tilt her head to the side and let it hand above her shoulder. "You'd be quite surprised."

"Would I?" he asked. He could feel himself being pulled closer into her round, brown eyes. In the sunlight they almost appeared amber. But it still wasn't gold. He almost wished she wasn't here for a potential job.

"How do I know you wont cause me any trouble?" he asked her.

"I told you I'd make my dreams come true," she said. "I just need the resource's to get there. I think you'll provide them to me."

"And what would you do for them?"

"Everything your ad hinted at, I'd be able to do for you."

Doflamingo heard Vergo cough. Whether it was a sign he liked what he was hearing, or almost choking on a piece of muffin, he wasn't too sure. But he did like Monet. She seemed serious about this. She came dressed in tight enough clothing to let him know she was bugged for the conversation. She said the right things. She knew how and when to make eye contact. She was young. She was very attractive.

"Vergo?" Doflamingo said aloud.

Vergo turned his head and leaned in close to Doflamingo, nearly tapping the back of his chair against Doflamingo's. He watched Monet's eyes rise once Vergo grabbed the table, staring at her through his dark shades. In his other hand was half a muffin being squeezed in his overly powerfully grip. She didn't look too surprised.

"Yes Sir?" he asked.

"Finish the interview," Doflamingo asked.

"Sir?"

"I can't allow any bias in deciding whether or not she meets your requirements." Doflamingo rested his hand on Vergo's shoulder. "She's supposed to work under you, after all."

"I understand," he said in his ever-usual stoic tone.

Doflamingo got up from his seat, smiling at Monet and said, "thank you for your time. I'll have my associate finish the rest of the interview. It shouldn't take to long, unless he really likes you."

"Is he picky?" she asked, making a quick glance at Vero who was now sitting himself down where Doflamingo once sat.

"Extremely," Doflamingo answered. "But don't you worry your pretty little head. He won't do anything awful to you should you fail the interview."

For the first time he saw Monet produce a frown. Apparently the thought of her possibly being harmed had not occurred. Doflamingo took pride in knowing he had brought that animal fear out her confident self.

Vergo offered his muffin filled hand to Monet. "Please to meet you. Let us get started on some necessities that–"

"Your hand has a muffin in it," Doflamingo interrupted.

Vergo looked down at the hand he was to shake with Monet and shook his head. "My apologies," he said to the young girl. "I can be…rather forgetful about these things." Monet appeared a little shocked by the strange offering, but held her own, keeping her eyes off the crumbled treat locked into his tight grasp.

"I'll leave you two alone," he said. He looked to Vergo and added, "Call me when things have been finalized."

"Of course," Vergo answered.

Doflamingo walked away from the café, feeling well about the brief conversation he had with the girl. She seemed almost too perfect for the job, yet she didn't come off as particularity false. If Vergo liked her then he would have a new underling under his control, and his small empire would hopefully grow for the better.

Once in the busier side of town Doflamingo pulled out his phone and went through his contacts. Sadly, even with the potential good news, his work was never done, and Caesar had called throughout the week informing him of his disappointment in downsizing the drug trade. Doflamingo managed to ignore the first few calls without much problem, but then he had heard the last message where Caesar had reported a new breakthrough in the purity rate of their product, nearly seventy-two percent.

That was good enough to sell abroad.

If Caesar could do that with cocaine, then he could certainly do that with harder drugs. Doflamingo normally wouldn't care for such a trade, but at such a high pure percentage, it would be foolish of him to not allow Caesar the money and time needed to bring up the production and further the purity to outsource his product. It would mean putting the slave trade on the backburner for a while, but it allow Doflamingo time to make even more money. The business would have cost quite a bit to start, so giving Caesar this opportunity would only benefit him in the long run. Of course, producing heroin brought an assortment of new issues for him to deal with. Once Violet was finished selling her share she would be all but useless, and Doflamingo couldn't have her running around with all that she knew. And having only Vergo sell wouldn't help raise profits, so this meant he would need to hire more heads to help sell his produce.

"Ceasar," Doflamingo said into his phone. "Is the final batch finished?"

"Yes, just barely," Ceasar voice echoed in his ear. "You'll be able to hand it in to Vergo and Violet shortly." Doflamingo could hear his voice shake with excitement, and he knew it wasn't the cocaine that was making him act this way.

"Excellent," he muttered. He paused a moment, listening to Caesar's rapid breathing, waiting for him to ask about the first batch of their product. He moved his phone a few inches away from his ear, anticipating that annoying, shrill laugh once he did choose to ask Caesar about the batch.

"Is it ready for testing?" Doflamingo asked.

"Testing? Shu-rororo! You're joking right?" Caesar asked. "This stuff is quite the product. You wont be disappointed!"

"I don't ever joke about these things," Doflamingo said in a threatening tone. A few people he passed turned their heads as he let a deep frown grow on his face. "I know you're excited about this, but we cannot let anything through unless it meets my standards! When I get over there nothing better be packaged. I see anything ready to be distributed without my consent and I'll flush it all down your toilet."

He continued walking in no particular direction, listening to Caesars whimpers though the other line. He felt himself smirk as he heard Caesar speak again, this time in a more humbled tone.

"Of course," Caesar said. "I'll have some placed out for you too look at."

"I want nothing in packages." Doflamingo warned.

"Y-you won't."

"Good, I'll see you in about an hour," Doflamingo said in a cheerier voice. He closed his phone and hung up the call.

He tucked his phone back into his pocket and then noticed that his sunglasses had slipped sometime during his walk. Without a though he pushed them back up the bridge of his nose, smiled, and turned back to the direction of the coffee house, confident that Monet had proven herself to Vergo.


	5. The Lack Thereof,  Or;  Possible Repression

**-Part 1-**

**-Now-**

Two months. It startled Doflamingo that sixty days could pass by so quickly, especially since he spent each day reminding himself how valuable time was, after all he only had so much time left to spare, but somehow so many days went by, and so many days were wasted.

"Have you found someone to sell long term?" Vergo asked, resting his arms on the stained table. The club was dark. It reeked of sweat and human filth. Women rubbed their cheap bodies against walls and poles, teasing money out of drunk, lonesome men. But it was loud, and it busy, and it was close enough to the marine base, and Doflamingo didn't mind too much.

"Violet says she knows some older boys at school who might fit the bill," Doflamingo said with a yawn. He was an insomniac during the night, trying to speed up the process of his eventual takeover in the underground world, but the effects were beginning to take its toll on him. The lighting didn't help either. He kept a smile on his face, refusing to rest, to consume caffeine, or anything that might deter him from his broken schedule.

"How much older?" Vergo asked.

"I think a year or two," he answered. "From what I've been told, they're a group of punks who have no real future ahead of them…"

"Is that what you want selling our product?" Vergo asked with some concern.

"For the time being," Doflamingo admitted. "If we want to make more money we'll have to expand our territory, including to the more dangerous neighborhoods." The room emptying out. It was less claustrophobic. "You're busy now, and I'd rather not get the girls in trouble, so I'll hire these shmucks and see what happens."

"You sure you can trust Violet not to get you into trouble?"

A girl in a tight, pink, glittering dress walked down the platform and, spotting Vergo's uniform, produced a hungry smirk. Both men watched in mild disgust as she got on all fours and dragged herself in a sloppy, animal manner, towards the direction of their table. The sunglasses and dark scenery made it impossible for the women to take a hint.

"She's still young," Doflamingo answered, eyeing the oil stricken body that slowly made her way upon him and Vergo. "I can fool her into believing whatever I need to her to believe, so long as she obeys my orders."

"Do you know the names of these kids?" Vergo asked.

"One of them goes by the name of Bellamy. I think Violet mentioned the name of his girlfriend, but I couldn't be bothered to care…not until I see them for myself."

"I wish you didn't have to resort to hiring children," the older man admitted, with a soft sigh. "They're incredibly unreliable."

"Nobody will miss them should something happen," Doflamingo said. He took a sip of his drink and smiled at Vergo. "My heart would break should anything befall you."

Vergo sighed again. He took a chip and dipped it in ketchup, pushing the over-fried treat deeper until it was completely submerged. He looked distraught.

"What?" Doflamingo asked.

"Progress is slow."

Doflamingo felt his mouth ache. Suddenly the smile felt forced. "It could be worse," he said, trying his best to sound enthusiastic. "You're doing a spectacular job."

"It will be a long while before I'll have the freedom I once did."

The lights in the strip club turned into a deep red, making it all the more difficult to see. Doflamingo yanked his sunglasses off and stuffed them into his coat pocket.

"I wonder how long that would take…" Doflamingo turned and stared at another woman, donning a maid's outfit, walking out of the dressing room. She was younger than the rest. She could be his age. Nice legs.

"How does one speed through the promotion process?" Doflamingo said aloud.

"Hard work and outperforming the rest of the competition," Vergo answered.

"Yes, but there must be other ways as well," the blonde said, burying his face into his palms. "Like, there has to be a way for you to get in with the higher-ups. Maybe you could earn your way through other means?"

"Are you suggesting I sell the product to my high-ups?" Vergo asked.

"Oh noooo," Doflamingo answered, "Don't sell yourself. These men will expect an honorable man to earn his way."

"How do you suggest I do that, Sir?" he asked.

"Well…" Doflamingo freed his hands and stretched his arms out, thinking to himself of possible means to get Vergo up in ranks, and having him back in his own.

"Uh…well, I guess socializing with them would be a start," he said. "And no kiss-assing."

Vergo raised a brow. "Would you ever suspect me of doing such a thing?"

Doflamingo smirked. "Describe these men to me."

"Most of them are white."

"Can't do anything about that," Doflamingo said, leaning back into his seat. He turned his head and watched the girl in the maid's outfit chat it up with a middle aged man dressed in a suit. His face was sweaty and red and he held no money in his hand. She wasn't giving him a lap dance, nor was she teasing him. No, they were just talking…strange. Why was she talking to him? Why waste her time when she could be making money, her living? Why were so many people content with wasting time?

"They're significantly older," he heard Vergo add.

"Next," Doflamingo said, still staring out in the dark.

"They're all family men, most likely Republican as well," Vergo remarked.

"Family…you don't have a real family, do you, Vergo?"

Vergo gave a short, quick nod. Doflamingo grabbed his drink, now warm, and took a small sip from it.

"You think these guys are well off?" Doflamingo asked.

"If I was to guess, I might say they were well off," Vergo replied.

"Rich white people like to socialize with other rich, white people," Doflamingo said. "Even better, they love to invite rich, non-white people, and socialize with them."

Vergo's jaw dropped a little. "And you know this…"

"I had an awkward childhood going to such events," Doflamingo said with a crooked smirk. "It's always a rule to have one, non-white family on your side." He pulled a packet of cigarettes from his coat and opened it up, pulling a stick and playing with it before placing it between his lips. "Once in a while there would be a poor family…but they never stayed long."

Vergo nod his head. "So we ask Monet–"

"–Monet is way too young," Doflamingo interrupted. "And if you want to gain sympathy, you'll need more than just a cute wife…you'll need an actual family."

He watched Vergo frown, slowly shaking his head in complete disagreement.

"Not to sound weak, but I don't think I'm ready for that sort of commitment," Vergo said.

"Well of course not," Doflamingo said. "You're still young! Can't expect you to throw your life away by adding brats to the mix…" He lit his cigarette and took a deep breath. "No, we'll have to take a slightly different approach."

"Can I get you boys another drink?"

Both men looked up at the young, scantily dressed woman standing at their table. Doflamingo recognized her as the maid he had observed moments before. Vergo crossed his arms, not the least bit interested in her offer. Doflamingo peered at his warm Cuban, wondering if wasting another five dollars on a barely cool mixture of rum and coke was a good idea, and looked up at the young stripper, who, up close, looked even younger than he had previously guessed.

She was fresh, young, and new. Her genuine smile made him think she hadn't yet been here a week. A newbie. Fresh meat. Innocence.

He smiled. "What's your name, dear?"

Despite wearing sunglasses, somehow Doflamingo could tell that Vergo was rolling his eyes.

"They call me Baby," the girl answered perkily.

"Baby?" Doflamingo said in mild surprise. "I thought this place already had a Baby?" He pointed at Vergo. "You remember, right?" he asked. "Strawberry blonde hair, with freckles?"

"I thought Baby was the Asian one," Vergo answered.

"It depends on the day of the week," the girl replied. "The boss really likes it, so a few of us get called the name…" She stared at Doflamingo and managed to produce a blush that, even under the lighting, he could see.

"Dare I ask what Baby you are?" he asked the girl. He exhaled the rest of the air in his lungs in the direction of the dark haired beauty, letting some smoke hit her chest.

"I'm the fifth one," she answered, looking away with some embarrassment. "Saturday and Sunday nights."

"Wow," Doflamingo muttered. "Right, well, Baby, neither of us are thirsty right now, but maybe if you come back in ten minutes or so, I'll be willing to dehumanize you for say, a twenty?"

Vergo chuckled. Baby's mouth dropped a bit from his remark. He expected her to walk away, though he was also hoping, seeing that she was the latest Baby to join, to possibly break down and cry from his lack of shame. Instead she looked around the dark, hot room, her lips curling inward as she tried to think of something to say. Doflamingo would have laughed, but then she looked down at him and gave a short nod, followed by a, "Ok, Sir. I'll see to it shortly."

Doflamingo wasn't expecting an answer from a simple girl like her. She was new to these things, but though her voice was shaky, there was something oddly assured about it, as though it were more than her job to take money from her. She sounded as though it were a duty.

He pulled out his sunglasses and covered his heated face. Women.

"Baby…" he muttered, curling in his finger in an inviting gesture.

"Hmm?" The girl leaned in close as he turned his head, leaning it against his shoulder and smirking so wide his cigarette risked falling.

"Five," he answered.

"What?" she asked.

"That's what I'll call you," he answered. "That's what you are. A number. A commodity. Goods. Baby number 5. Baby the fifth. Baby 5."

"Oh," Baby said, pulling away with some disappointment. "Uhm…ok."

"Now leave," he said. Doflamingo played with his cigarette, staring mildly at Vergo as he recanted further into his chair, finding his boss' words to a random stripper unusually cruel.

Once she had walked off Doflamingo turned to Vergo, disappointed that he had not broken her.

"So, that marriage idea of yours?" Vergo asked.

Doflamingo rubbed his head and tried to think about what he had planned to say, but his frustration seemed to overflow every corner of his mind.

"I don't know," he admitted. "Can't really remember what I was going to say." He sneered over at the girl.

"She'll probably get upset once she comes back…if she comes back."

"I doubt it," the blonde muttered, picking up his cup and finishing off of drink. "We won't be here."

"You're not going to try toying with her?"

"I'm not going to throw away a twenty to some girl trying to pay her way through some silly dream," Doflamingo said, frowning as he watched her disappear though the curtains that led upstage. "She's a waste of time, and us sitting here without a real plan is a bigger waste."

"She's obedient." The word got to Doflamingo. Vergo's choice to have picked that one quality that Baby 5 possessed, rather than her physical beauty, was not surprising to Doflamingo. The man had a way of finding the most useful of traits when picking out possible subordinates. A stripper's job was to feign obedience. Vergo called her obedient. Vergo cannot be tricked.

Doflamingo raised a brow at Vergo. "Do you think she's worth the time though?"

* * *

**-Then-**

Like every disappointment that came into Doflamingo's life, after a good whine and some days spent on hating the entire world, he would eventually get over it. The first Friday sucked since Doflamingo admittedly had very little to do. He was an unlikable brat, and any other boys his age that claimed to be his friend were merely saying this because of his status. His parents had one of the bigger homes, they drove the better cars, and they (or at least they tried to appear) had the better life. All his friends were sad little pawns of their parents trying to get close with the name Donquixote, and Doflamingo wanted very little to do with these disposable pieces outside of the occasional game of tag or handball.

He made his complaint to Crocodile the following Saturday, only to find that the boy was definitely not in the mood, snapping at Doflamingo and sending him away to get food while he stabbed new drawings in his notebook. The rest of the day was spent with a heavy silence as Doflamingo tried to think of what sort of secret the boy was hiding on Friday that made him so tense, and all Fridays to come.

How long would this change last? When would things turn back to normal?

Things were just bad the second Friday as Doflamingo was forced to bear with the fact that his parents had forgotten to send someone pick him up. Again. After nearly an hour of sitting and waiting and pondering over Crocodile and the things the boy had said about punishment, Doflamingo walked all the way back home, and, perhaps in an overly sick manner, chose one of his father's favorite watches and placed it in the bag of his mother's favorite maid. He then went through his mother's drawers and nabbed a pair of her decorative undergarments and, though he didn't do it immediately, hid them in amongst the properties of his father's serviceman.

It was an interesting Friday night. Georgina cried and bewailed upon being fired. It was a hilarious Wednesday afternoon. Alonso was forced to register as a sex offender.

Both his parents would never trust their workers again.

The best part, he had something interesting to talk about on Saturday. Even better, Crocodile was in a good mood both those times, and enjoyed every bit of it all. He snickered. He laughed. Doflamingo imprinted it all into the bank of his memory.

Saturdays became the new highlight of Doflamingo's weekend, not because of it being the start of his two-day excursions with Crocodile, but because of the changes that would be spotted during the excursions. There was now a five-day break before he would see Crocodile again. The boy was eleven going on twelve. Changes were going to be noticeable, or, at least, they were supposed to be.

* * *

Six weeks left until Crocodile's birthday. Doflamingo did the math. It would rest on a Sunday.

He arrived early. It was a surprisingly cloudy day. The humidity was high. Instead the bike, he chose to ride the bus, knowing full well rain was to be expected at some point. He knew Crocodile wasn't a fan of the weather. He came early to get as many hours in as possible, and leave before the rain came, before the older boy could demand him to leave.

He walked over to the back of the park, letting his umbrella swing along his side. The sandbox appeared clumpy and dark because of the gathering moisture. Doflamingo wondered if the swing seats would be dry enough for him to rest and later play on. As he walked through the few grassy patches that had survived the summer, he could make out the sounds of distant yelling taking place. He was no stranger to bitter arguments; Doflamingo knew there was a fight going on, between one man and one woman.

He stared at his umbrella, thinking of his mother, partly because it was her pink umbrella he had taken, partly because she was the source of all arguments that took place between his parents. Whatever they were arguing about, he was sure the woman had started it.

Doflamingo walked over to the lone swing set, letting his backpack and umbrella rest against the peeling painted foundation as he walked over to the worn, rubber seat and wiped the tiny droplets that were collected on it. He heard a few choice words being screamed from the woman's side as he thrust his legs forward, waiting to see if Crocodile, wherever he was hidden, would spot him and come running over to play. The iron chains creaked as he began to sway. He pulled his legs in and smiled as he gained speed and high, kicking his legs out and staring up at the cloudy sky. It wasn't often he had time to himself, even less when park was empty enough for him to enjoy it.

He heard the man this time. He wished he knew what they were saying. His mind instinctively searched for the worst words, translating what it could hear into something familiar for Doflamingo _. Listen._

Something, something, bad mother. Something, something, go to hell. Something, fuck you, something, cocksucker. Something, no. Something, leave.

Doflamingo wondered if his parents should get a divorce.

Something, something, my child too!

They had argued quite a bit two weeks ago.

Something, you don't understand, something, our child, something.

And they had fought over something small and pitiful the previous week.

Something, this is sick. Something, something, my daughter, something, wrong.

Really, they hardly ever got along. His mother was only nineteen when she had married his at the time thirty-four year old father. There was little denying what had brought the two together. He was a man of status and power. She had always lived a pampered life and wasn't willing to adapt to anything less. Doflamingo was a part of the marriage contract stating that an heir to the family had to be produced if she wanted to be entitled to anything.

Something, doctors. Something, help. Something, leave. Something, something, something, something, something, something. _Why didn't you listen?_

Imagine if they had loved each other! Ha. He might have been stuck with a little brother or sister. Wouldn't that be bothersome! It would have never leave him alone. He… _It_ would always want to hang out with him and Crocodile. That would have sucked!

Something, something, get out! Get out, now! Don't ever come back!

Years later, in a strip club, he would take a drag from a cigarette and, while trying to bridge together the perfect plan, would briefly fantasize about creating the perfect family. It would involve exploiting a trusted worker of his, but the results would have been fantastic. There would be the mother, the father, and the little br-the child!

Ah, but that was years away. So many things would happen before that strange night where he hired a stripper to play hit woman in his strange game.

Doflamingo heard the sound of burning rubber and an angry engine, so loud and furious that he was startled out of his seat. Luckily he had stopped swinging ages ago. He barely had time to wipe away the tears from his face when he saw the car speed by him, leaving a trail of smoke behind. _You should have listened._

He grabbed his backpack but left the pink umbrella to fall into the damp sand, and walked over to the park bench located further inward. He threw his backpack on the ground and sat down on the moist bench, resting his head in the nest of his arms. He wasn't teary eyed anymore, but there was an innate fear inside him that warned him that he needed to hide this all away if he wanted to stay safe for the rest of the day. He didn't know why he felt this way. Maybe it was because he didn't want to be seen as weak in front of Crocodile. Maybe it was because ever since Fridays were taken away, Doflamingo wanted nothing more than to be seen as someone that Crocodile could trust himself to be open with.

Doflamingo felt a hand rest on his head, both gentle and firm. He blinked; staring at the dark textures of old, chipped wood and remained situated in his same, protective position. He gave into desires and sniffed.

"Are you alright?"

Doflamingo's arms tucked in further to his head. "No," he embarrassingly admitted.

"What's wrong?"

There was something terribly cruel in Crocodile asking him this. How could he ask him such a personal question, when he himself denied Doflamingo the answer whenever the boy tried to raise it out of concern?

"I don't know," Doflamingo muttered. He lifted his head, hot and red from emotional frustration, rubbed his eyes to give his surprised pupils a chance to adjust. "Don't call me any names," he muttered.

"I wasn't going to," Crocodile replied. It sounded like the truth.

Doflamingo did his best to sit upright. Crocodile staring at him with a mildly concerned expression was odd, and it made him feel rather exposed. He wished for the bored expression. He missed the stoic expression. Hell, he longed for the angry one, so long as it wasn't this.

"I have a question." Doflamingo turned and looked at Crocodile with some desperation.

Crocodile frowned, knowing that this was going to be a question that he didn't want anything to do with. The despised personal question.

"Crocodile," Doflamingo whined. He moved in closer to the boy. "Can we run away tomorrow?

The boy was surprised by this one. No, he was expecting something rather different. But, being smart, Crocodile could detect that there was something hidden beneath this sudden question.

"Why?" he asked.

Doflamingo could feel a rush of emotions hit him. "I hate my family," he said. The emotions traveled up his throat. "But…I love my family." The act of swallowing was becoming difficult. His lungs felt like something was pressed against them. "Its very strange. I don't know what it is. But I want to leave them."

"That's not too strange," Crocodile replied. The response made Doflamingo feel loads better. _It's coming._

"Do your parents love each other?"

Crocodile scoffed. "No." This made Doflamingo feel normal. "I don't even think they ever really liked each other."

"Then why did they get married?" Doflamingo asked with much curiosity.

Crocodile looked down and away from Doflamingo. He could see the boys face, not entirely hidden with falling strands of hair, and saw something develop in the eyes.

"They were never married."

Doflamingo was taken aback. "How did they have you then?"

Crocodile looked at Doflamingo with an almost pitiful expression. "Really," he asked. He produced a slow, sarcastic laugh that sent a chill down Doflamingo's spine. Once he stopped and looked at Doflamingo, only to see the boy's still confused expression, did he realize just how serious Doflamingo was when he had asked. Crocodile was aware that the world Doflamingo was forced to spend his time in was severely safeguarded, but had no idea just how censored things were.

"Holy crap, you're serious," he said. He sighed through his nose, yanking Doflamingo closer as he went ahead and provided the answer.

"They. Had. _Sex_." The word "sex" being emphasized in such a way that he would know (More importantly, when _that_ time came for him and Crocodile) just how unwell the boy's view was on the subject.

"Sex?" Doflamingo said aloud. _Almost there._

"Yeah," Crocodile answered, his voice trembling with some disgust. "That's what they did. He stuck it in her…."

"Stuck it?" Stuck what where?

"And she decided she would keep me," Crocodile finished, looking paler after having said it.

It was so vague Doflamingo wasn't entirely sure what it all meant, and judging by the look on Crocodile's face, he wasn't about to get anymore. Whatever sex was, it probably wasn't very good.

"And they never married, even after they had you?" Doflamingo wasn't sure what to make of it. He supposed his situation was better than Crocodile's, but he didn't feel any better about it.

"No," Crocodile answered.

"Is that why I can't come over?" The question somehow slipped through Doflamingo's mind and out the lips. He expected the boy to get upset and angry over bringing up the topic of seeing where he lived, but Crocodile remained rather calm.

"No," he answered. "That's not the reason."

Doflamingo sighed. He let his legs swing underneath the bench while resting his head on a hand as he stared outward at the rest of the park.

"Am I ever going to visit?" he asked. He had already crossed the forbidden zone of subject not to be brought up, and seeing that Crocodile was in a caring mood and willing to provide, though they were cryptic as ever, answers, he figured he had little to lose.

Crocodile brought his left hand to his mouth, biting on his thumb knuckle as he followed Doflamingo's suite and began to kick up his legs.

He finally answered. "Maybe."

Doflamingo looked at Crocodile, finding the answer almost disingenuous, even though Crocodile's expression said otherwise.

"Really?" he asked.

"Yeah," Crocodile said. _So close._

"When?" Doflamingo asked. He could see that Crocodile had detected the sudden rise of energy in his voice, causing him to once again, turn away from the blonde. But Doflamingo had been given a promising answer, and he wasn't about to let Crocodile wander or change topics on him. He reached out and grabbed Crocodile's left hand, making sure to remind the boy that he was still there, still waiting on an answer.

Crocodile looked back at him, confused, perhaps more confused than Doflamingo had been when he had mentioned sex, so much so that Doflamingo regretted taking Crocodile's hand in the first place. But instead of letting go, he let his other hand also take hold of the doomed hand, one of his finger rubbing against the blemish of what once was a scar. His eyes were lowered as he panicked from this strange reaction, wishing he understood why he chose to keep touching Crocodile, instead of letting him go, and his eyes rested on the left hand, which seemed to relax more as it was held by Doflamingo's shaking ones, and from this he could see the old, thin line going across the palm in a diagonal direction.

Finally his brain began to work properly, and Doflamingo let the hand go, and was a little happy to see that Crocodile didn't immediately yank it away. The two stared, Crocodile still looking confused, but not as confused as before, and Doflamingo wishing he understood why he acted so strange.

"Uhm," Doflamingo pointed at Crocodile's hand, deciding there was no choice but to change the subject. "That scar…does it hurt?" It was a stupid question. It was all he could think about.

Crocodile stared at the scar. "No," he answered. He rubbed at old mark, his mouth trembling as he did. "But, _Doflamingo_." _Here it comes._

"What?" Doflamingo asked.

"My house," Crocodile almost said in a stammer. "It's…if….you _do_ come over…"

Doflamingo's eyes went wide. It was actually happening. He didn't think anything would ever come of this, but Crocodile was actually going to tell him.

He trusted him. Doflamingo felt the edges of his mouth tug into an eager smile.

"It's…" Crocodile grabbed his left hand, frantically rubbing the palm, and forced a smile on his face. "Ku. Ha. Ha. I mean… you're going to think it's pretty strange…but…you see…I…"

He watched in horror as tears began to run down the boy's face. "I…have…I'm…"

He had seen Crocodile tear up from pain. He had seen Crocodile overcome with emotion that he was close to breaking. But he had never seen the boy's face stained with running tears. In those three years Crocodile had done his part by being the one who was strong enough to not break.

And now he was crying. He was forcing himself to laugh while desperately trying to hide how overwhelming this all was, and he was failing miserably.

"Crocodile?" Doflamingo felt his body begin to tremble with fear. "Why are you–"

He looked into the boy's eyes, filling and dropping tears with every slight movement. He remembered seeing them many weeks prior and feeling terrible when he had seen the eyes filled to the brim with something he couldn't quite understand. And now, he was seeing it again, but this time there was something else. And Crocodile, who had been so unwilling to talk about what caused all this pain to show in his pupils, was about to confess something to him.

_Can you believe it? He was so close. We were so close. Things could have been so different. You might have seen the house before he moved. You would have seen it. And you certainly wouldn't be wasting your time here, right now._

_Why did you have to ruin it?_

Doflamingo grabbed the boy and pulled him into a tight embrace, burying his frightened face into Crocodile's jacket.

"No!" he yelled into the clothes, "no, no, no, nooo!" Doflamingo could feel his own eyes begin to water, but held in his breath to stop any tears from falling. He couldn't think straight, nothing beyond wanting Crocodile to stop crying. This was all so very wrong. It was too much.

Doflamingo kept his arms wrapped tightly around the boy's thing frame, his heaving chest eventually matching Crocodile's, until he heard the beating heart begin to slow down to a more even tempo. He lifted his head up, his face still rubbing against the worn out clothing, and stared up at the pale face above.

"Don't say it," Doflamingo muttered into Crocodile's chest. "Don't cry."

Crocodile stared wide eyed, his reddened eyes still soaking, and his already torn look appearing all the more defeated once Doflamingo made his request. _Coward._

Doflamingo let Crocodile go once he felt he had give Crocodile ample time to calm down and wipe his face clean. The younger boy still avoided looking at Crocodile, unwilling to stare as long as Crocodile appeared this way. _Why couldn't you just let him cry it out?_ It had been hard enough when he had seen those eyes looking so empty. There had been so many changes the last time. Doflamingo wasn't sure he could handle any more.

Doflamingo turned himself around, no longer facing the bench, and giving the other boy the time needed as he slumped in disappointment at his own actions. He wished he had never brought the conversation about the house up. He wished he hadn't made Crocodile cry. _He was going to tell you!_

He stared at his two hands and could remember the feel of the old scar on Crocodile's hand. It was a peculiar mark. He had never thought much about it, but there really was something odd about it. How did one acquire such a mark? Crocodile would have had to grab the knife on the bladed side pretty hard…that would have been rather stupid of him.

It had felt so nice to touch it. It must have felt good for Crocodile too. He never pulled away.

"Crocodile," Doflamingo called.

"…what?" he didn't sound well. Doflamingo looked over at saw the boy staring out the opposite way; his shoulder's resting on the bench, and his mouth covered behind his clasped hands.

"How did you get the scar?" he asked.

There was no hesitation in his answer.

"That's none of your business," he said, loud enough so that Doflamingo could hear him through his covered mouth.

It began to rain.

 _He trusted you_.

* * *

**-Now-**

Two days. It startled Doflamingo that forty-eight hours could go by so quickly, especially since he had spent most of it with just one other person. Time has a tendency of slowing when you're spending it with another person, particularly a stranger. Time was as precious as always, luckily Doflamingo had not completely wasted it.

"Am I getting better?" She must have yelled at the top of her lungs since Doflamingo could hear her through the noise cancelling headphones.

He leaned against the white countertop and stared at the giant target sheet.

Really, Baby 5 had no real purpose being a part of this. She was obedient, which meant she could keep some secrets. She also seemed to have issues with saying "no," since, in his cruel way of jokingly asking her to take part in his sick games, she went along agreeing under the impression that she was in some way needed, which meant she would probably, stupidly, sacrifice her wellbeing for his cause.

But she was a high school dropout who somehow knew nothing of the real world. She barely had a grasp of her own world; she was that bad of taking control of her own destiny it made Doflamingo feel somewhat bad for her.

"Damn," he muttered through a growing smile.

"Well?"

"You got most of the major parts," he said, eyeing the white sheet.

She did, however, have quite the eye.

Really, it was a joke. After withholding the money he promised after her terrible lap dance he made a very obvious false offer of asking to her become his hit woman. He did it to get back at Vergo, who had thought she might be of use. He expected her to walk off, mortified and pissed.

But she took the offer. So he took her, still dressed in her inappropriate attire, to the local shooting range, wondering how she'd react when viewed by the eyes of hungry men while she handled a gun for the first time in her pathetic life.

She outperformed.

"Well," Baby 5 said as she placed her still loading gun on the counter. Doflamingo grabbed it and turned on the safety, shaking his head at how strange things had turned out. "Should I put in my two weeks notice?" She was blushing again.

"Serious question," Doflamingo said, lowering his shades so she could see the bewilderment in his eyes. "When I told you I was going to pay you, and didn't, and then said I'd hire you–a stripper mind you–then made you pay for the rental, the bullets, and the McDonalds, what exactly was going through your mind?"

She cupped her cheeks. "Oh, well, you said you would reimburse me once I was hired…and you said you really thought I'd make a wonderful assassin, since I'm loyal and hardworking."

Doflamingo covered his eyes and felt his mouth go dry. This was unreal.

He created a small gap between two fingers and stared out of it, still amazed as her having existed this long. "And you believed every word of it?"

"O-of course!" Baby said, her face turning all the more red. "And trust me, I'll work very hard to be the best hit-woman you've ever had, sir!"

"Of course you will," Doflamingo smirked.


	6. Liar Liars

**-Part 1-**

- **Then-**

Doflamingo was told about the journey into adulthood shortly after entering middle school, at about the age of twelve. Unfortunately, he began puberty at the age of eleven. His father barely had the time to spend with his son, so the brief seconds they shared with one another weren't long enough for him to realize there was something emotional wrong with his growing child, and Doflamingo's mother figured he was old enough to finally understand that she had always hoped for a loyal daughter, not a son. Needless to say, there was no one who could explain to him the problems that were arising in the back of his mind. A Christian school barely covered the necessary details when it came to sex, even less when it came to sexuality, and absolutely nothing when it came to gender.

There was no denying it; Doflamingo knew he liked boys. He also liked the girls as well, but there was no stopping the urge to look over at his fellow male classmate and wonder what they might look like without a shirt on. Or pants. Or anything really.

Doflamingo knew nothing about bisexuality, not that it would have helped him, since any romantic feelings involving members of the same sex was treated with hostility. So as far as he knew he was gay, and there was nothing he could do to fix it.

Crocodile became an even bigger interest to Doflamingo around this age. Doflamingo remembered thinking up ways to come into closer contact with Crocodile, all in the hopes of seeing and touching him in a not so innocent way. Although his interests in roughhousing were beginning to wane and be replaced by more intellectual, mature hobbies, Doflamingo would often try to spark some sort of energy from the older boy, his desire being that Crocodile would make some sort of move on him- be it romantic or not. For years Doflamingo wondered whether Crocodile had been aware of this plan of his, as it appeared that Doflamingo's growing desire was overdone by Crocodile's ever growing prudishness.

That was strange. It should have been an obvious sign that there was something off, because though the two had begun to drift apart in some ways, there was no real excuse, at least to Doflamingo, why Crocodile suddenly felt uncomfortable from a certain amount of physical contact. But Doflamingo was only nine, ten, and finally eleven, and all he could do was hate himself for scaring the boy from their usual games. Yes, Crocodile _must_ know, he would bitterly think to himself. He knew but was too polite to say anything. That _had_ to be it.

 _Crocodile…he started late._ Doflamingo never really dwelt on Crocodile's late start, rather, he enjoyed that the boy remained in an androgynous state for an extended time, pretending to himself that the only reason he liked Crocodile "that way" was because he still carried some feminine physique that puberty would one day wash away. It was something like magic when Doflamingo got off the bus into the unfamiliar neighborhood that Crocodile and his mother had moved to, when he stumbled upon a Crocodile who's lips seemed paler, his hair less silken, arms and legs lankier, and over all expression all the more expressionless. To put it simply, he wasn't as pretty as Doflamingo had recalled him being the previous week.

It was hard to tell, at first. Crocodile was busy on Fridays. That meant five days without seeing the boy. But then Fridays suddenly became a Wednesday sort of thing, and then Doflamingo decided to just visit Crocodile whenever he pleased. The changes became noticeable. Doflamingo had no right to complain. He had Fridays again. He wondered why Crocodile was always busy on Wednesdays though.

Every week there was something Doflamingo would focus and linger on as he continued to silently watch Crocodile develop. The boy, then thirteen, was showing interests in bigger and better things, and since Doflamingo could no longer impress Crocodile with childish accomplishments, he would take the steps necessary to earn the older boy's respect. When Crocodile took up smoking Doflamingo did everything he could to not cough when he took his first deep inhale of the toxic air. When Crocodile replaced his model ships and pirate figures with pocketknives, pipes and other paraphernalia, Doflamingo went ahead and had his family purchase some new toys of his own.

The desert would become an alien world to the two boys. Crocodile's interest in playing imaginary games dwindled after that emotional mishap that Doflamingo was already beginning to regret. He would move away from the center of the neighborhood, higher up north, on the other side of town, admittedly closer to Doflamingo, but far away from the place where he watched Crocodile bury the treasure. Doflamingo wanted to bring it up. What ever happened to the money? How much did he end up saving? What on earth would he have done with it?

Then Doflamingo was eleven. Crocodile was fourteen.

* * *

Doflamingo sometimes missed the desert. He sat behind the city's library, cigarette at hand, waiting for Crocodile to finish with classes so that they could hang out. It had been an uneventful Friday; sometime during silent study Doflamingo got the idea to leave his school's premises and made a deadline for the neighboring city where Crocodile had moved. He loved that it was only a twenty-minute bike ride from his school, but hated that it was in the center of everything. Although they were both getting too old for such games, Doflamingo wished there was somewhere for the two of them to hide, to play in privacy.

He brought the cigarette to his lips and took in a short breath as the sounds of the bell clock from behind went off; alerting him that it was now three. He had waited here for nearly an hour. Crocodile should have been finished thirty minutes ago. He should be here _now_.

Doflamingo threw the remains of his smoke on the ground, knowing full well by now most people would be out, and not willing to risk getting caught, decided to bear with his thirst and addiction. He grabbed his bike and wheeled it out to the front of the library, figuring Crocodile must have been held back. He might have gotten into a fight. He was probably in trouble.

Crocodile was almost always in a bad mood now. Monday was the worst. Sundays made Crocodile anxious and lethargic. It was always the same pattern. Doflamingo wasn't sure what it meant, but he tried to make the best of it. He was aware that they were both going through an unusual, yet totally natural, period. It would all be over _soon_. _Fu. Fufu._

"Hey, Doflamingo."

Doflamingo felt his face scrunch in distaste as a certain familiar voice came from the side, accompanied by the loud rolling sound of an old, worn skateboard. It was not Crocodile's voice.

"Mihawk," Doflamingo muttered without so much as turning his head, "where's Crocodile? Is he in detention again?"

There was a pause. Doflamingo almost felt tempted to turn and stare at the boy he totally didn't like, but wasn't in any way jealous of.

Mihawk sighed, "He's at home."

"What?" Doflamingo frowned. "Why?" He looked and could see Mihawk's expression. Something about it appeared awkward, but maybe that was just in the boy's nature. God, Mihawk was so off-putting. Those torn, bleached skinny jeans. That oversized Guns N Roses Shirt. That skateboard. That _everything_.

"He had surgery the other day," Mihawk answered, this time more smoothly. "Appendix."

"Surgery?" Doflamingo repeated. "Appendix?"

"Yeah," Mihawk said. He picked his skateboard up and sat himself on the stairs in front of the library. Doflamingo looked down at the older boy in disbelief. Mihawk rolled his tongue around his mouth and spat out before continuing; "he's been feeling pretty bad the past few days. Got pulled out the other day during fourth period."

"What the fuck?" Doflamingo growled. "He didn't say anything to me."

"That's why I'm here," Mihawk responded. "He wanted me to let you know you can go home and spend time with your other friends this weekend."

What "other friends," Doflamingo wondered. He hadn't yet met those few that would be worthy of being called friends. Other than this thought, there was also dealing with the depressing prospects of a long, lonely weekend. And why didn't Crocodile call him yesterday, or the day before? Why couldn't he get his mother to call? _You aren't worthy._

But worst of all: why was Mihawk the one telling him this?

"How is he?" Doflamingo asked, trying his best not to let his inner rage show.

"I haven't seen him yet," Mihawk answered.

Doflamingo could feel his facial muscles struggle to not form a devious smile. There was one thing Mihawk had not yet done! He wondered how long it took to get over a missing appendix. He wondered if Crocodile would be in the mood to have him visit.

"Don't go over to his place."

"Hmm?"

"You have that look on your face," Mihawk said. "Crocodile wants to be left alone. He isn't in the mood. Go do something else."

"How would you know what mood he's in?" Doflamingo asked, letting his childish smirk leak though. "I'm his best friend. I know what he wants. Not you."

Mihawk simply stared back, his intense yellow eyes nearly burning though Doflamingo's sunglasses.

"Don't you have anything else to do today?" he asked.

"No," Doflamingo admitted. He kept his smile on as he quickly retorted. "What about you?"

Mihawk frowned.

"I'm not sure why you thought I wouldn't go ahead and visit him," Doflamingo added. "I have a right to be worried about him."

"Don't be," Mihawk said. "He'll be perfectly fine next week." He stood up and stared long at Doflamingo before finally forcing a small smile on his face. It looked absolutely frightening, nearly causing Doflamingo to back away out of fear.

"Lets go swimming," Mihawk said.

"Excuse me?" Doflamingo said. This did cause him to back away.

"My community has a pool," Mihawk said.

It was clear that Mihawk was only saying this because he didn't want Crocodile to be disturbed. Mihawk knew that Doflamingo wasn't fond of him, and the only reason the thirteen year old tolerated him was because Crocodile probably told him to.

"I can't swim," Doflamingo said. Normally Doflamingo would had taken some offense to admitting this weakness of his, but he figured he would be willing to admit it so long as he could save himself from several hours of hanging out with just Mihawk.

Mihawk shook his head. "Yeesh."

"It's not that big of a deal!"

"Nah, it's not that," Mihawk said. He smirked. "I swear, it's like nobody I know can swim." He placed his skateboard on the ground and placed a foot on it. Doflamingo couldn't help but stare in disgust at Mihawk's torn, red Converse. "C'mon, I'll teach you."

Doflamingo knew Mihawk wasn't going to make this easy. For whatever reason, probably out of greed, the boy wasn't going to let him go and see Crocodile. No, Doflamingo realized he was going to have to play by Mihawk's rules today, otherwise he'd probably just find a way to further distract him from his goal.

It would only be a few hours. And Mihawk's house was only a few blocks away from Crocodile's.

Doflamingo crossed his arms, his thin lips pressing tightly together, doing his best to appear defeated and submissive to Mihawk's whims.

"Fine," he muttered.

* * *

Doflamingo never really thought about how different Crocodile's house was compared to the usual homes until he was at Mihawk's. He had been to the place a few times before, but only for a few minutes, and he never paid much attention to the detail. The large, one story building had only been a minor detour from a day's adventure. But now, seeing that his day would be spent with Mihawk, and seeing that he had no choice but to change into–No, no, no, why–a pair of Mihawk's swim trunks, Doflamingo, in his delicate, exposed state, could help but pay attention to every little detail of his surroundings.

Bare-chested and admittedly a little cold, Doflamingo waited around the hallway for Mihawk to gather the things necessary for their little outing to the community pool. He held on to his arms and stared at the many pictures that hung from the wall. He'd take a step and stare at a photo, almost always the one he would look at had some depiction of Mihawk in it, and would respond with some sort of negative expression, and then finally move on to the next. He slowly paced halfway through the hallway before Mihawk came out with a bag hanging from his shoulder. Without saying a thing Doflamingo turned and stared at the older boy, and then suddenly realized that he had just witnessed several years of Mihawk's life in the form of photos. Even more, he had seen a hallway dedicated to the life of this boy, from infanthood to the age of thirteen, and a looming discovery came upon him as he recalled every memory of him entering, walking, resting, and existing in Crocodile's house.

There were quite a few memories. Crocodile moved into the small, cozy two story house with a tiny little backyard at about thirteen, and from the moment of their movement, Crocodile had gained a sudden change of heart and had allowed Doflamingo the _personal_ and _private_ information that he had so craved: his address. Nearly every weekend consisted of him being in that house, even if for a few minutes. And in every one of those instances, Doflamingo had never really taken the time to notice this strange bit of evidence, only focusing the majority of his attention to Crocodile and their plans. He had never really noticed the lack of pictures, intimate memories that ought to have been scattered around the house, but for some reason shared no existence in Crocodile's house.

"Are you alright?" Mihawk asked.

"Huh?" Doflamingo asked.

"You. Alright."

Doflamingo rolled his eyes…not that Mihawk could tell behind Doflamingo's dark shades.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Doflamingo said with some hesitance "Let's just get this over with."

He remembered the photos. He remembered how scattered everything was. How random. How full of love each picture seemed to hold as they were added throughout the house in whatever free space was available. He told Vergo how to arrange everything.

* * *

"This isn't so bad," Doflamingo heard Mihawk say aloud.

Doflamingo stared down at the distorted image of his abdomen. He focused his attention at the surprisingly warm water that swished up and down, covering and uncovering his belly button with a strange, unclean wetness. He was pretty sure a hairball brushed against his arm. The sun was beating down the upper, dry half of his body. "I think I'm burning," he said.

"You need to move to the deeper end of the pool," Mihawk said. Doflamingo watched Mihawk back peddle a few feet away from him, barely missing the other members the two had to share the pool with, to the marker that was labeled "5," or five feet deep.

"I'm fine here," Doflamingo said. This was true. The shallow end of the pool, though warm and leaving his back exposed to the harsh sunlight, was nowhere near as crowded as the deeper end. He saw children younger than him splash and throw water. Even though there were rules that clearly dictated that jumping was not allowed, every once in a while Doflamingo would hear the yells and screams of someone running and jumping into the pool, causing a giant splash and wave of water, some speckles of the chlorinated, murky water hitting the lenses of his sunglasses.

"You'll never learn to swim properly," Mihawk said.

"I'm not sure I want to anymore," Doflamingo said, once again looking down at the water, noticing the body of a dead brown beetle float by.

"Hey, Mihawk."

"Yeah?"

"What does the appendix do?" he asked.

Mihawk shrugged, "I don't know." He licked his bottom lip and proceeded to flick away the beetle. Doflamingo winced. "Don't be worried," Mihawk said, "He'll be fine."

"Fine?"

Mihawk didn't hesitate to answer. "Yeah."

Something seemed off. Doflamingo wished he could put a finger on it. This wasn't the first time he had been lied to, nor was it the first time precious information had been withheld from him.

"You don't think he'll have a scar, do you?" Doflamingo asked.

He watched Mihawk's face contort with some worry. He wished he could interpret what kind of worry it was.

""I…don't know," Mihawk admitted. Doflamingo couldn't make heads or tails of it.

Was the appendix useful? Doflamingo had never paid much attention to all those organs that were inside of him, but now he wished he could find out. He knew sometimes people had to get rid of them, but why and how was unknown. It frustrating to not know, angering that Mihawk seemed to care so little.

"You sure you don't want me to teach you to swim better?"

Doflamingo nod his head, not sharing any real signs of caring.

"Well…stay on the shallow part then," Mihawk answered flatly. It appeared neither really wanted anything to do with the other anyway. Whatever, Doflamingo thought to himself; the bastard got what he wanted. He was "distracted" and hopefully Mihawk would think that lil' ol' Doffy had forgotten all about Crocodile.

Doflamingo looked around the pool area and smiled as he counted all the visitors that had arrived to cool down from a long day's work. The crowd would make escaping easier. It wouldn't be too hard. Doflamingo had insisted he bring his spare clothes instead of leaving them at Mihawk's, because he would have to hurry home soon and didn't want to get in trouble with his parents. His bike was locked right outside the pool gate. When Mihawk wasn't looking he'd just sneak on out.

"Pssst!"

Doflamingo swirled around and made immediate eye contact with a green-haired and green-eyed girl who, judging by the missing teeth in her wide grin and the bright pink water-wings on her arms, was of a younger age.

"Hi!" the girl said. Her arms, which had been submerged up till this point, where quickly raised up, resulting in Doflamingo's face getting hit with stinging warm pool water.

Doflamingo crossed his arms, letting the liquid run down his face. "What do you want?" he grumbled.

The girl didn't seem to notice his growing temper and remained smiling when she finally answered, "my big sister thinks you're cute," before giggling and swimming away.

Doflamingo raised his brow, watching the swimming figure till it reached the end of the pool before getting out and running towards two girls, both just as giggly and annoying in appearance as the green haired one. He first looked at the smaller redhead, and then raised his focus up on the longhaired, raven-head girl. It took him a moment to realize that the latter was the eldest, as she was seated on her knees, but once she looked over at him Doflamingo couldn't help but feel his chest tighten up as she smiled at him, cheeks pink and eyes filled with adoration.

Doflamingo immediately looked away. He turned around and around in the pool, trying to see where Mihawk was. He couldn't spot him so decided now was the time to try to get away. He carefully made his way out of the pool and began to trek his way to the bag holding his clothes. Unfortunately, as he was about to make his escape, he felt a hand grab his. A smaller, softer, and delicate hand.

Doflamingo turned his head just slightly to see who had been so bold to do such a thing. It was the girl.

"Hi," the girl said.

Doflamingo's sunglasses lowered, almost by sheer will.

"You're holding my hand," he said.

She giggled. "You're funny," she said.

"I'm funny?" Doflamingo asked.

"My name's Hancock," the girl said, eyeing him like as though he were some sort of sweet delicacy. "What's yours?"

Doflamingo smirked. He chuckled. He nearly guffawed.

"What's so funny?" Hancock asked. Hancock. Han-cock. Cock.

Doflamingo made the mistake of just answering, "you." This caused the girl in front of him to misinterpret his message as something positive, and upon hearing this, squeezed the older boy's hand, so much so that Doflamingo actually had to free himself from the pain.

"You think I'm funny?" the girl squeaked.

Doflamingo began to slowly take a few steps back toward the pool. His chest began to race with a sudden nervousness. "Uh, well… _you_ have a funny–"

"Let's be boyfriend and girlfriend!" Hancock chirped.

Doflamingo gripped tightly on his bag, feeling the sudden animal urge to fight or flight. Now, he had always wanted a "real" girlfriend– _or a "girlfriend" who happened to be a boy. That wasn't weird. Right?_ – but Doflamingo was a boy who wanted things on his own terms. This Hancock girl was young, too young for him. She was short, had no boobs, had no butt! and she was loud and annoying and a little too aggressive for his taste. Also, her name had "cock" in it.

The eleven year old concluded that he could do sooo much better.

"I actually have to go," Doflamingo said, taking yet another step away from the girl, and dangerously closer to the pool.

"Wait! You didn't tell me your name yet," Hancock whined.

"It really doesn't matter," Doflamingo insisted, "You will never, ever, ever see me again."

"Nuh-uh," the girl said.

"Uh-huh," Doflamingo hurriedly responded.

"What the hell is going on here?" Doflamingo heard Mihawk's voice and groaned. He turned and saw the older boy walking up to him, that look of frustration and over-awareness of the situation at hand all over his smug, frowny little face.

"Who's that?" Hancock asked.

"A pain in the ass," Doflamingo groaned. He heard Hancock yelp in shock from his comment and would have otherwise reacted from it, but then Mihawk finally approached him.

"I can't believe you tried to leave," Mihawk said, shaking his head.

"Bull, you knew this was a bad idea," Doflamingo snapped back. "You know I don't like you, you probably didn't want me to come along."

"Crocodile doesn't want to be bothered, ok?"

"How would you know?" Doflamingo asked. "And why do you think this is just about him?"

"Because you're obsessive," Mihawk answered, reaching out and attempting to yank away Doflamingo's bag.

"Hey, that's MY stuff," Doflamingo yelled.

"It's MY bag," Mihawk yelled back. He reached for the bag again, but Doflamingo managed to side step away from Mihawk, accidently bumping into poor little Hancock, who, during the boy's brief argument, had moved closer to Doflamingo to take his side, and unfortunately was not closer to the pool. So when Doflamingo made contact with what he considered to be something blocking his way to freedom, he used what little developing muscle he had to push her out of the way, and that way happened to be into the pool. _Whoops._

There was a loud splash, followed by the yelps and screams of the younger girls that were sitting on their towels. Doflamingo wasn't paying too much attention to the ruckus that was going on around him, of anything he was trying to take advantage of the girls panicking screams, along with the addition of panicking adults. He held on tightly to the bag and ran off, nearly slipping on the wet pavement as he tried to struggling his way out of a crowd while managing to not get caught by Mihawk.

It wasn't until he felt a terrible burning sensation beneath his feet did Doflamingo realize he successfully escaped the community pool and was no longer in possession of Mihawk. But although he had fulfilled his goal of getting away, there was something inside of him that made him feel ill, all previous passions from before wilted away with what Mihawk had said just before he had escaped.

"Am. I. Obsessive?"

Doflamingo walked over to his bike and threw the bag on the handlebar. He freed his bike from the rack and carried it along several feet till he reached cook grass. He threw it all on the ground and fell into a squat. Doflamingo nervously began to pluck at the blades of grass, feeling heart race, his head hurt, his throat tighten as he tried to not think about _everyone knowing_.

Maybe Crocodile didn't want him over. Crocodile knew that he was a-a-a-gay and wanted nothing to do with him during his healing process. He told Mihawk. And now Mihawk had just told him. That was it, right? That's what was _really_ going on, wasn't it?

Doflamingo continued to pull at the blades until the slim shadow belonging to Mihawk covered his reddened body. Doflamingo pouted, refusing to look up.

"Go ahead," he growled.

"What?" Mihawk said, his voice expressing his exasperation from the previous events.

"You know I like him _that way_ ," Doflamingo muttered.

"You'll grow out of it," Mihawk responded.

Doflamingo looked up, still frowning with both hands clinging on to mutilated greenery. "How do you know? You don't know a thing about me."

"I know Crocodile," Mihawk said. "I know you're still just a kid. I know your feelings for him won't last forever. He'll grow older, and whatever you saw in him before will change."

Something about the last sentence made Doflamingo shudder. What was it about people never being quite direct with him? But the words, if anything, only made Doflamingo more desperate to see Crocodile. Because, what if? What if it was true? Doflamingo himself had noticed a change in the teen's behavior.

"I'm going to go see him," Doflamingo announced, getting up from the moistened spot. He pulled his clothes out of the bag and handed it to Mihawk, who, after some silent deliberation, took the bag from Doflamingo.

"I think you should wait till next week," he heard Mihawk say behind him. "Wait till Monday."

"He's a jackass on Monday," Doflamingo replied, getting on his bike.

"Don't you want to know what happened to that girl you pushed?" Mihawk asked.

Doflamingo rolled his eyes, this time making sure his spectacles were low enough for Mihawk to notice.

"She'll get over it," he said.

"The girl couldn't swim," Mihawk added, "like you."

Doflamingo gave a half-hearted shrug. "It's not like I'll have to see her again anyways…"

* * *

A cool breeze caused by the evening wind forced Doflamingo to make a stop about midway to Crocodile's. He changed back into his uniform, stowing Mihawk's spare trunks into his backpack. Though he was mostly dry, the rapidly cooling air made the change into his school dress let him feeling unusually grateful. By the time he made it into the small, cozy neighborhood, Doflamingo was regretting he hadn't brought a jacket with him, or hadn't left with Mihawk's spare towel.

Doflamingo walked up to the small, thing two story house smack dab in the row of many others. Like most neighborhood houses, it shared many similarities with the other tall, thing looking houses, but something about it–perhaps as a result of having noticed the lack of pictures from within–gave it a lonely, dark feel.

But Doflamingo was lucky today. He knew he wouldn't have to go inside the house today. As soon as he dropped his bike off on the porch he could detect a strong, bitter, earthy scent burning in the air. He got off the porch and walked to the gated backyard, jumped and grabbed hold of the wooden frame, and jumped over it.

He landed roughly on drying grass. The backyard was a tiny, wild, dying thing. The ground was cracked and dry, leaving very little space for grass or even weeds to grow. Crocodile's mother never had time to try to nurture it, and it seemed the more her son rested in it the more dead it appeared. But Crocodile wasn't pacing about, and was instead laying on a blanket, on his side, left hand reaching out past the field of the blanket, and fingers drilling their way into the rough terrain.

He didn't seem to notice Doflamingo.

"Hey," Doflamingo called.

He watched two tire eyes peer up at him with little interest. Crocodile seemed more relax than usual, which was to be expected once one tasted what was now in the air, but he didn't appear like someone who might have not wanted be visited by him.

"You're here?" Crocodile muttered. His hand released all the crushed gravel, now pushed down into fine, moist sand.

"Yeah."

"Oh," Crocodile went on, his voice held no animosity. Doflamingo watched the teen curl up, holding on to his lower stomach, mumbling something to his self, before forcing himself up into a sitting position. "Alright then," Crocodile said lazily.

"You're not pissed?"

"Huh?" Crocodile asked, staring at him with might be considered confusion.

"Never mind," Doflamingo said. He walked over and sat himself next to Crocodile, whose dazed expression was nowhere near being changed. He watched in silence as the older boy began to dig through his pocket, pulling out a small bag before yawning and reaching out with his right hand for something on the other side of the blanket.

"I had a shitty day," Doflamingo muttered.

"Happens," Crocodile said, pulling out a small bit of green nub from the bag. "So you came over here after…."

"Mihawk tried to teach me to swim," Doflamingo answered.

"How did that work out?"

"I told you it was a shitty day."

"Hmm," Crocodile murmured. Doflamingo grew irritated. He waited for Crocodile to finish stuffing his faux gold pipe. He wanted Crocodile to reciprocate something. The air was getting colder.

"Sorry about your appendix."

He waited for Crocodile to give some sort of response. He turned his head and looked over to his neighbor, surprised to see Crocodile staring at him with a strange look.

"What?" he asked.

"Your appendix," Doflamingo said. "Mihawk told me about it."

Crocodile's jaw dropped a little. Doflamingo watched the teen's fingers fiddle with the pipe.

Doflamingo lifted a brow. "Well..."

"Oh, thanks," Crocodile finally said. He plucked the lighter that had been lying on the blanket and brought it closer to him, along with the pipe. "Yeah, it wasn't the big of a deal."

"It wasn't?"

He watched Crocodile crack a smile, bringing the lighter and pipe up to his face. "Oh yeah, it wasn't a problem."

Was there ever an appendix? Was it all a lie?

Doflamingo eyed Crocodile's torso. Smoke was then blown into his face, causing him to back away and cough.

"Stop staring," Crocodile warned. The teen placed his pipe down and covered his lower stomach with his arm. The sudden look of concern on the young teen's face let Doflamingo that something had indeed happened.

But was an appendix involved?

"Sorry," Doflamingo said. He nudged away from Crocodile, allowing a small gap to build between them. His fingers dug into the soft fabric beneath him. He was craving a cigarette, but confusion and hurt was overtaking him. He wanted to be able to ask Crocodile anything, but he knew Crocodile would never tell a secret, especially not his own.

"You want to take a hit?"

A gold painted pipe appeared right in front of Doflamingo's face, hovering right beneath his shades, the pipe shaking just a bit from tired, intoxicated arms.

Doflamingo sighed. "No. I don't really feel like it."

"Suite yourself." Crocodile went back to lying on the blanket. Doflamingo tried to get a glimpse of Crocodile's stretched out abdomen, wondering if he might spot something, but the older boy quickly went back to resting on his side, his right hand cradling his stomach with care. But was it real?

Doflamingo sighed again. He couldn't rely on Crocodile to be honest with him. And pained him to know he was so obsessed with him.

He wished he had someone to talk to.

"I need to make real friends," he said aloud.

"Hmmm?"

"Nothing," Doflamingo muttered. He got up from the blanket and walked over to the gate. Crocodile said nothing. Doflamingo doubted that the teen even noticed when he left.

* * *

**-Now-**

Doflamingo wasn't one to spend a lot of money on frivolous things. Though he did have money to spare, he was aware of what a precious resource it was, and, being that he was more than capable of planning ahead, disliked nothing more than wasting it on temporary pleasures.

But tonight was an exception.

"When will they be arriving?" Vergo asked.

"Soon. Very soon."

The restaurant was Spanish themed. There was an array of many bright, exotic colors, with red being the most prevalent and intense. Doflamingo and Vergo sat at the very end of the restaurant, in a private room, dedicated to them and three guests.

Doflamingo had mailed the invitation out three weeks prior, using the addresses he had known since he had last seen the three men in question. He wasn't sure if any of them still took residence in said places, but had hoped his instructions in the letter would be enough to help any stranger that might have taken claim of the letter to send it out.

The message, of course, had been cryptic. He knew better than to reveal such precious information out. They would know what to do, if either man had received the post.

"It's almost eight."

"Mhmm," Doflamingo muttered, leaning forward and resting his elbows on the table. He eyed the open door that allowed him only a small view of the restaurant. He saw some movement, perhaps the _flutter_ of a cloak, quickly added by the kind voice of a waitress greeting the new arrival. Doflamingo held his breath as he continued to watch and wait to see if there would be someone to celebrate with on this cool, wintery night.

Two figures appeared at the door. Vergo raised his brows, surprised at the figured that stood besides the petite waitress.

"Sir, your first guest has arrived."

Doflamingo smiled, staring at the tall man draped in heavy attire. His long, thin legs protruded from his cloak, giving a mildly surprised Vergo the chance to see just how tall this man was compared to his younger boss.

"Diamante," Doflamingo said with an exhale. "I was getting a little worried."

Diamante pursed his thick lips into a smirk.

"You worried? I don't believe it."

The taller man took a step away from the waitresses, dismissing her with the wave of his hand. He dropped his backpack, which had been till this time camouflaged amongst his unusual, worn clothing. The backpack, stuffed to the brim, produced a loud sound, causing both Doflamingo and Vergo to flinch.

"So, I take it Trebol didn't arrive yet?" The man said while removing his hat.

"No," Doflamingo answered. "Does that mean I can expect to see him tonight?"

"Tonight, tomorrow…I recently just discovered that he's in China at the moment," Diamante said, claiming the seat right across from an observant Vergo. "But he did sound plenty excited about it."

"Do you know if Pica might make it?" Doflamingo asked.

Diamante frowned. Doflamingo watched as the tall man began to draw out a letter from his cloak and handed it over to him.

"Just before I left Southern Italy," he said. "I managed to write to him."

"What did he say," Doflamingo asked with some hesitance, his fingers rubbing against the worn envelope.

"He's nearing the end of his two year mission. He sent me this letter to give to you," Diamante answered. "I'm guessing it's his complete answer."

"Two year mission?" Vergo asked.

"Don't let the religion fool you," Doflamingo answered. "Pica can be surprisingly cruel."

"Right," Diamante said. "I wouldn't be surprised if he's thinking up a way out of it as we speak…assuming he's agreed to this." The man then looked around the room, and then quickly pursued the table.

"I'll have a few drinks sent our way soon," Doflamingo mentioned.

"Great. Now," the man said, exposing a crueler grin. He leaned forward, letting his height show as he hoered over the two men, staring at Doflamingo with excitement. "What do you have planned that so special you had me leave Europe, ha?"


	7. The Third Worst Day of His Life

**-Part 1-**

**-Now-**

"This California weather," a tall, disheveled man said with a sigh. He sniffed, lifted his hand up and gave a quick wipe. He blinked several times, causing his small dark spectacles to slip over his squashed in nose. He sniffed and wiped again. "It's the end of January, and my allergies are acting up…I can't imagine how I'll deal when the spring arrives."

"It's Cali, Trebol," Diamante said with a huge grin, "we're already in spring! Give it a week or two and we'll be enjoying that sweet, southern California summer weather."

"God I hope so," Trebol whined. He hunched over, wrapping his arms around himself as he looked around the apartment, wrinkling his nose every few seconds in a fruitless attempt to stop the dripping. "Doffy," he groaned. "Can you get me a blanket? I feel a migraine coming on."

"Not right now," Doflamingo said, walking into the living room with his laptop at hand. "We've very important things to discuss if we plan on getting this up from the ground."

"I got the jest of it," Trebol muttered. Doflamingo frowned, looming above his subordinate with his laptop dangling threateningly above the other man's flat head. Trebol looked down in defeat, nudging himself to one side of the couch as he let Doflamingo continue.

"Well, then," Doflamingo continued. "As you know I've got about half a dozen or so underlings at hand, I plan to split them evenly amongst you two, and eventually Pica–"

"Pica's coming?" Trebol asked with some hesitance.

Doflamingo groaned. "Diamante," he said, turning to the other man.

"Oh, I couldn't," the man said, shrinking into his seat. "He wrote the answer to you after all."

"Yeah, "Doflamingo said, "but you got to see him."

"But you explain things so much better," Diamante said, looking away as he continued to humble himself.

"Well, I suppose–"

"BUT, since you insist!" Diamante took a deep breath. "He's busy with his mission to spread the true word of the lord." Diamante smiled, leaning casually in the armchair with his legs spread out. "According to Doffy he'll be coming over at the eighteenth month marker…"

"I thought it was a two year mission?" Trebol asked.

"It's complicated," Diamante shrugged. "Apparently you can leave early under the right conditions."

"Anyways," Doflamingo said, doing his best to persist under the many distractions, "I wanted you three to focus on my bigger trade. After a lot of thinking I've decided to have Vergo look after Monet and Caesar."

"Caesar?" Trebol asked.

"Met him the day before you arrived," Diamante responded. "Strange bloke with a fascination for toxicology."

"Too fascinated if you ask me," Doflamingo said. "The man keeps bringing up talk about moving up…he's even mentioned us making a deal with bigger names."

"He sounds disobedient," Trebol remarked.

"Perhaps a new chemist is in order," Diamante suggested, grinning evilly at the blond.

"I must admit, he still has his uses," Doflamingo confessed, turning away and giving a small shake of the head. "Vergo will make sure things are kept in order. Whether or not I upgrade my business will be a decision made by me and me alone."

Both Diamante and Trebol smiled.

"As for you two," Doflamingo said, "I'll need you to help me start the trade as soon as applicable."

"What do you need?" Trebol asked.

"I need you to get your most loyal…" Doflamingo stopped, lowering his face thinking silently to himself.

"What is it?" Diamante asked.

"I'm looking for the right word," Doflamingo muttered, his eyes peering through the upper park of his sunglasses. "You see, I need you to find people. People you can trust. People you already know."

Trebol carefully raised his hand. "So, friends would be the word?"

"No, you can't have friends," Doflamingo quickly answered. "Friends make you emotional. Friends can betray you. I can't have you two working under such a handicap…I need your orders to be precise, so friends are out of the question."

"But Doffy, aren't we your–"

"Right," Diamante said, "so subordinates would be the right answer?"

"Not so," Doflamingo replied, just as quickly as before, "there needs to be a great deal of respect between you and these persons of interest. I need you to rely on them just as much as they would rely on you. They need to be almost equals when it comes to making certain choices. Their lives are not simply something that we can toss."

Doflamingo thought for a second of the teens he and Vergo had acquired aid from a few months ago. That Bellamy fellow. He couldn't think of any real positive things to say about the teen. The boy was a tool, a simpleton that trusted him and would sell his drugs until he was no longer needed. He wasn't necessary in the long run.

Vergo was a piece of a puzzle needed in order to complete his plans. A missing Vergo meant a great hindrance to all long-term goals. Vergo was more than just a subordinate. He relied on Vergo to provide essential information, to provide a constant flow of supply and demand. Vergo was something, but what was it? What was the word he was looking for?

"So," Diamante said, "just to reiterate; you want us to find people we trust, that we can rely on to do our really fucking dirty work, and not have to worry about betraying us?"

Doflamingo felt himself being dragged right back into reality as the words sank into his clouded brain. He gave a slow but steady nod. "That's what I need. And I need them now. I need this to start right away."

"Hmm," Trebol pondered a bit, "honestly, I can't think that sort of trust being natural outside of a family?"

"Family?" Diamante pulled back in aghast. "That's what you come up with? That's just stupid. Family, mixed in with crime? What do you think we are, the mafia?"

"It was just a thought."

Family? Yes, that worked, to an extent. There were so many flaws with it though that made it an overall mess of a definition. Family was _too_ important.

Doflamingo snorted. "Diamante's got a point. Family is a terrible definition." He saw Trebol's exasperated expression and felt something, perhaps a combination of pity and empathy, dwell in his chest. "But," Doflamingo added, "You should now…in theory, I do grasp the definition and why it would apply well to my demands."

"I suppose," Trebol said, still looking quite defeated.

"…I suppose a break is in order," Doflamingo said, detecting the complete destruction of concentration in the air. "I'll go get you that blanket."

"Thank, Doffy," Trebol said; leaning in so close that Doflamingo could feel the man's breath hit his skin. At this point Doflamingo sprang himself up and began to make his way into the hallway.

"Yo, wait, Doflamingo," Diamante suddenly said, raising his arm up and trying to halt the young man.

"What?" Doflamingo asked, looking a little irritated.

Diamante produced a worried look. "What exactly, if you don't mind me asking, is the end goal here?"

Doflamingo's eyes went wide "What?"

"I'd like to know what Trebol and I have to look forward to," Diamante replied, his voice more confident. "This is pretty heavy, and I think having a better understanding of what is going on will help us prepare when we look for those people you want us to find."

"Hmm, yeah, I understand," Doflamingo answered, "yeah I get it. If I want you to work at your best I really should explain the entirety of my situation to you."

"Can you get the blanket first?" Trebol asked.

"Just a few minutes," Doflamingo said, sitting himself back down in his seat. "You see. Well." Doflamingo chuckled. "I haven't been completely honest with you two. Or anyone really."

"Not too surprising," Diamante admitted.

"But don't worry, that'll end right here," Doflamingo added. He cupped his hands together, his heart racing as he felt his smile hold something more than his usual avarice. "You see there's something else I want. More than power. More than money. I want more than missing faces on milk cartons, mast panic, or, hell; absolute chaos." Doflamingo's face hurt from how much he was smiling. His chest beat with excitement.

"Jesus," Diamante muttered, his face growing pale.

"What is it?" Trebol asked.

He could see it. Doflamingo knew _he_ was out there somewhere. For a long time Doflamingo wondered about the price. He hated his upbringing, but if anything came from it, it was that you can put a price on anything. He was going to place a price on human beings. He was going to put a price on life. Everyone had some sort of price. Even Crocodile. A price to locate. A price to capture. A price to train. A price to reform. A price to own, permanently.

But time is running out. Doflamingo knew he had to hurry. He had to hurry.

They all had to hurry.

* * *

**-Then-**

It was one of the few instances where Doflamingo's birthday fell on a weekend. Of course, Doflamingo had brought it up a few times during the week, trying to nudge a subtle hint to the teen over what he might like for his birthday. Doflamingo had the money to spend, and by god he wanted to spend it all on a day with Crocodile, preferably with it being celebrated with just the two of them. Crocodile, being the person that he was, made no attempt to show any interest on Doflamingo's twelfth year on this earth, leaving the younger to do all the work.

Not that Doflamingo minded. By this point he was used to it. Doflamingo had grown and adapted to Crocodile's natural disinterest: discovering that, as he grew older, Crocodile seemed to care even less for things that he didn't immediately gain from. And what did Crocodile have to gain from another birthday?

Doflamingo stopped his bike as he heard the distant echoes of a shipping train cutting through the town. It seemed so far away, but Doflamingo felt it's eerie call as though it had been whispered from a voice right behind his back. He'd hear the howls every once in a while as he made his way over to Crocodile's, and every time there was an itch in the back of his mind. What did it remind him of?

Never mind, the boy thought, there were better, more important things to think about. Like Crocodile. Like… _willing_ Crocodile. _Molding._ _Contorting_.

Crocodile didn't seem to care about a lot of things because he only cared for things that he could benefit from. Doflamingo cared for his friend deeply and wanted nothing more than for him to reap the benefits of the world. But it would be impossible for Crocodile to gain all the treasures of the world if his view of what was considered to be treasure was limited. Crocodile had taught him to how steal, how to bride, how to bully, how to express dominion.

It was only fair that Doflamingo try to do the same for Crocodile.

There were all sorts of pleasures to be had. The games they played in the desert were long gone but there were so many games that could be pursued and achieved in this world. Crocodile didn't yet see but everything he had taught Doflamingo was connected to a much bigger plan that Doflamingo hoped to teach Crocodile. And this would be chaos. Yes, chaos: something so simple, yet still managing to be unleashed with the upmost eloquence.

This was Crocodile's way: he liked to unleash fury without dirtying his hands. Fighting was almost always a last resort, and when he did fight Crocodile preferred to go about it in a quick, painful manner as to leave his mark and go back to whatever the hell he had been engaged in prior. But what if he learned to get what he wanted though random acts of misery and torment? Surely there was something to gain in ruining the world by engaging in unruly acts of chaos. There had to be something eye opening when criminal acts were performed openly and without caution. Carefully stealing snacks, clothes, or even sunglasses provided a small amount of chaos, as precious goods were being taken from the suppliers without pay. But! but what if things were being taken without fear of being caught? What if they stole right in front of the suppliers? What if something big was taken, something really valuable?

The trains howled and Doflamingo was once again pulled back into the trance.

He needed to go places. He needed to leave the dry, boring state filled with mindless ants and go somewhere, anywhere.

Doflamingo pulled out a cigarette and lit it, huffing quickly on the addictive fumes as he felt a warm, comforting feeling inside of him being pulled out from a distant memory. He gave a long exhale as he suddenly remembered a promise from a long time ago, back in the days of buried treasure and simple reenactments of imaginary inspirations.

"The ocean," he said, aloud, inspired, and practically exhilarated.

He had forgotten for so long, the promise that the eight-year-old Crocodile had made to him. And being only five, he had been dumb enough to believe it all! It could still happen though. Crocodile was getting older; surely long distance transportation was not too far off from becoming an achievable pastime? Crocodile might laugh, but then he might actually consider it.

Wouldn't it be something if they just left one day without warning? Obviously it wouldn't be today, but they would do it, and when they did, imagine the reaction. Nobody would know where they went off to, and why. It would be out of their mothers' control, no officer would be left with a lead, and, most important of all: they would be in complete control. Chaotic to everyone but the two of them: the ideal situation. _Nothing is ever that perfect though._

Doflamingo placed his bike on the porch and lifted the potted cactus that was situated right next to the door, exposing the house key that had been placed by Crocodile's poor, simple mother. He plucked the key and unlocked the door, placed the key back in it's obvious hiding place, and walked right into the house.

He hadn't thought about how early it was until he looked over at the clock hanging in the kitchen. It was quiet, but it was almost always silent, especially considering the inhabitants. Crocodile only spoke when he felt like it, and his mother didn't seem to have much fight in her to try to pry words out of her son whenever Doflamingo saw them together (which was rare to begin with). The bright light emitting from the room had temporarily drawn his attention, and once Doflamingo turned he noticed the time, feeling a small curious smile grow on his face when he saw it wasn't yet nine.

Doflamingo crept his way up the stairs, paying close attention to the silence of the house. The air was still and tasted fresh which meant Crocodile was still asleep and sober, or at the very least sleeping off whatever he had intoxicated himself with the night prior.

He walked through the small hallway, stopping at Crocodile's door and pressed his head against it, making extra sure that the boy was still asleep. He nearly stumbled forward when he felt the door move away from him, and was forced to grab on the knob in order to save himself from falling hard and waking up the older boy. Doflamingo was wide eyed. He gave himself a moment to relax, pull himself up from his awkward crouch, and let go of the knob without making any sound. He had not expected the door be to slightly ajar. It wasn't in Crocodile's nature to leave the door open. Doflamingo chalked it up to Crocodile leaving the room earlier at some point, either to relieve himself or grab a quick bite before finishing his beauty sleep.

He pushed the door open the rest of the way and peered into the dark room. The curtains covered most of the windows, allowing only some light to fall on top of the desk resting against it. Doflamingo looked to his right and wasn't surprised to see a messy bed with an even messier resident in it. He was, however, very surprised to see a pale back facing him. It was October, but the weather was still warm, and Crocodile had decided to go shirtless. He was shirtless and snuggling his blankets, completely unaware. Doflamingo could see bare skin, pale skin making the subtle movement with each soft inhale and exhale.

He backed out of the room, almost shutting the door behind him until he remembered that a disturbed Crocodile meant a cranky, angry Crocodile. So he gently placed the door back to it's original position before grabbing ahold of himself and rubbed his reddened cheeks until they ached.

Doflamingo had sort of hoped these feelings would wane a bit. He would have really liked for him to focus more attention on the fairer sex. For some reason Doflamingo couldn't ease that arousal, that strange, unnatural want for the male body. His hands slid down to his pants as he applied pressure, squeezing his legs together and carefully counting off the alphabet as a means of distraction. Seeing Crocodile so exposed brought such an excitement to his young heart. Doflamingo was beginning to worry there was something more than a simple physical attraction. The very thought made him sick.

"C-Crocodile!" Doflamingo yelled out. "Are you awake?" Of course he knew Crocodile was still resting, and he knew yelling loudly would wake the boy up, and Doflamingo wouldn't have to worry about staring at his sleeping form, feeling eternally guilty about his sexual desire.

He waited a few seconds. His breathing was the only sound being made.

"Crocodile?" Doflamingo called out again. He pressed his head against the door, making sure this time to hold on to the knob and not make a fool of himself again, as he listened to see what sounds were being made in the room. He could make out a few muffled sounds, perhaps movement, and he was sure he heard Crocodile crack out a groan, but there was no indication that he had left the bed and was moving about.

"Crocodile?" Doflamingo said once more. He carefully opened the door and peered inside.

There was the sound of someone who did not want to leave the bed.

Doflamingo made out some movement in the bed and saw Crocodile's arm reach out and pull up his sheets, covering his exposed back before curling up and going silent again.

Doflamingo called out. "Hey. Crocodile, wake up."

He watched the body contract. Crocodile groaned in his man-made cocoon before looking over his shoulder and staring disdainfully at Doflamingo.

"What are you doing here?" he muttered hoarsely.

"It's Saturday," Doflamingo answered. He took a few steps back into the room; confident he wouldn't get caught red faced in the darkness. "You sound gross. Are you sick?"

Crocodile blinked a few times. "What time is it?" he asked. He didn't sound well.

"Almost nine," Doflamingo replied.

"Ugh, you're too early," Crocodile hissed. Doflamingo watched him cover his face with the blanket, groaning into the sheets with his raspy voice that kept reminding Doflamingo over and over that Crocodile would not be physically well enough to go out and spend the day with him. "Give me ten more minutes," he muttered through his sheets. Doflamingo felt his own fingers stretch out with surprise.

"What?" he asked.

"Ten minutes. Go downstairs," Crocodile muttered.

"You're sick?" Doflamingo wasn't sure why it came out like a question.

Crocodile groaned loudly. Doflamingo shrugged and left heading downstairs back into the living room. He sat himself down on the loveseat in front of the television. He picked up the remote and turned the T.V on, trying to distract him from the bare image of exposed, sensitive flesh for as long as he could. He changed a channel and the sudden image of Crocodile changing right above him made his stomach queasy.

He wondered if he could come up with an excuse to get back into the room. The reward would be well worth the brief punishment. Crocodile was a prude, but it wasn't like he was hiding anything special in particular.

And Crocodile was older so–

Doflamingo blushed and turned the sound up till it was practically deafening. It didn't help cloud the thought of seeing Crocodile naked, but it did result in Crocodile hurrying down the stairs, almost fully clothed save a pair of socks and shoes, snatching the remote and turning the volume down before giving Doflamingo one of the most threatening glances he had ever seen. It was the glare that killed all arousal.

After this Doflamingo stared empty-minded at the television, the image still in his mind, but the animal fear reminding him that Crocodile had left with the remote, and chances were next time he did do something to upset him the remote might end up being used as a weapon. Still, while he had time to himself, Doflamingo once again found him musing over the possibility of explaining to Crocodile of his chaotic vision. The older teen was sick and probably wouldn't want to go out for too long, Doflamingo would have to be a fool for not taking advantage of the situation.

He waited another few minutes before hearing Crocodile go down the stairs again. He looked over the furniture and watched the slim figure move around in the kitchen, grabbing whatever was available for consumption. Doflamingo couldn't help but stare longer than needed, his eyes glued to Crocodile's legs slowly moving about in worn out jeans.

Crocodile walked over with a piece of toast in his mouth and a small bag in his left hand Doflamingo hadn't noticed it until the boy lifted his arm, offering the bag to Doflamingo.

"What?" Doflamingo asked.

Crocodile pulled the toast from his mouth. "Your present," he said in his usual monotonic manner, "happy birthday."

Doflamingo stared at the bag for a second before happily snatching it from the older teen. He had assumed that Crocodile wouldn't waste money on something so trivial, but seeing the bag had lit up a new passion in the boy. He pulled out a thick, yellow book and stared at the cover, his sunglasses falling down the bridge of his nose as he awed at his new gift.

"You got me _Watchmen_?"

"Mhmm," Crocodile muttered as he sat himself down next to Doflamingo. He took a few bites from his small meal and pulled the remote from his pocket, letting it rest on the table.

"This is all of the chapters."

"Yeah."

"And there's other stuff in it?"

Crocodile gave a short, quick nod.

Out of greed, but not specifically for the actual price, but more so for the attention and affection, Doflamingo asked, "How much did this cost?"

"You're getting really annoying," Crocodile warned before falling prey to a raspy, wet cough.

"How sick are you today?"

"Don't worry, we can go do whatever you want to do," Crocodile answered.

"I don't want you getting worse," Doflamingo insisted. "We can stay inside and do something tomorrow."

"Mihawk and I have things to do," Crocodile said, finishing the last of his meal.

"Mihawk?" Doflamingo asked. He placed the graphic novel carefully on the table, hoping Crocodile would notice the affection he had placed on the gift. "What are you two doing?"

Doflamingo could see Crocodile peering at him through the corner of his eye. Crocodile picked the remote up and turned up the volume.

"We need to see Moria. Get some stuff."

"Stuff?"

"Where do you think I get your fancy cigarettes from?" Crocodile asked.

"You buy them?" It was a stupid question. He quickly added, "Who's Moria?"

Crocodile got up from his seat and grabbed the remote. "No one special," he said before turning off the T.V.

"Why can't we just get the stuff today?" Doflamingo asked.

"No money," Crocodile stated.

"I have money."

Crocodile flinched. "I'm not going to owe you money."

"Well, of course not," Doflamingo said, smiling, "You won't have to owe me anything. It's my treat!"

The older boy shook his head. "I'm not taking your money."

Doflamingo was persistent. He pulled out his thin wallet and pulled out some bills, offering them to Crocodile. He could see the boy looking down at the bills, hesitant to take them.

"Birthday money from my parents," Doflamingo said. "My dad. I wont miss it."

It was hard to resist such an offer. Crocodile took the money.

"I'll call Moria and see if he'll show."

Doflamingo wasn't a fan of Crocodile's dependency, but saw no issue in providing a little something for Crocodile if it meant not sharing that time with Mihawk. He'd have Crocodile all to himself. Perhaps there would be time to talk.

* * *

Doflamingo did not like Moria. There wasn't much to like about the tall, pale, gothic-punk-thing who sat ominously underneath the gondola in the center of the not so nice part of town.

Moria himself was an interesting figure. Sitting on one of the porches that were situated in the gondola Moria looked something like a giant vampire. He was adorned in black, worn, heavy looking leather; some of which containing patches of old metal bands, chains connecting one side to the other, and giant, inappropriately placed tears. He wore makeup, which was surprising to Doflamingo since he had always figured men didn't wear makeup, and was done up to make the then seventeen year old look all the more menacing. His hair was all over the place.

Doflamingo rested against the worn white railing as he continued to stare at the giant figure sitting on the graffiti stained porch, staring back at him with a giant grin. He knew it was impossible, but Doflamingo could have sworn those teeth were all razor sharp. He continued to quietly observe, almost forgetting his hatred of drug addiction in order to figure out just what exactly Moria was supposed to be.

"You never told me you had a brother."

"He's not my brother."

"Oh, so you're buying for kiddies now?" The older teen laughed, exposing those strange, sharp looking rows of pearly whites, "Kishishishi! How cute! You think you can impress the boy by buying him some smokes, eh Crockie?"

"I've been buying for him for a while," Crocodile replied in annoyance. "He just wanted to come along today."

"Oh, I bet," Moria said with another haughty laugh. Doflamingo watched the young man spread his legs out as he rested deeper into the seat. He frowned when he saw yet another tear in the clothing.

Crocodile rolled his eyes. Doflamingo could see that the teen was beginning to regret this decision. Doflamingo had hoped his age wouldn't have gotten in the way, but it appeared that three years (five for Moria) were too much to be taken seriously for such an event. Doflamingo went back to hating the cigarettes that he depended on. He want back to loathing the little green buds that Crocodile desired.

Crocodile then pulled out the money from his jacket. Doflamingo feared the money would be handed to him, but instead, to his surprise, and dismay, Crocodile approached the older teen and offered up the money.

"This is all _his_ ," Crocodile said to the goth. "All of it."

The young man dressed in black peered at the messy bundle of wrinkled bills. He suddenly pulled himself back to a more respectable position, plucking the money from Crocodile and giving it a quick count.

"Hey, kiddo." Doflamingo looked and saw two black pupils locked on his thin form.

He raised a finger and pointed at himself. The older teen grinned.

"Kishishi, yeah, you."

"I'm not a "kiddo"," Doflamingo said.

"Oh, of course you're not," Moria said, still smirking at the younger boy. "Nah, you're different. Real different. A guy like you knows how to make money…knows how to properly spend it too." Doflamingo could detect a thick layer of sarcasm being applied to every word the man spoke. However, being in a position of power, Doflamingo decided to bear with it until he got what he and Crocodile wanted.

"So, where'd you get the money?"

"My parents," Doflamingo answered flatly.

"Kishishishi…did you steal it from them?" Moria asked hungrily.

"No, it was given to me," Doflamingo answered. He rested himself against the railing in order to feel in control. He could see Moria trying to figure him out. Neither was entirely sure why such precious information was being given away. Doflamingo gave a glance over at Crocodile through his shades, wishing that Crocodile could see what he did. What a waste drugs were. They were hopelessly in love with a temporary sensation that couldn't possibly satisfy their growing desires. Doflamingo knew Crocodile didn't appreciate this favor of his. The only reason Doflamingo was buying now was so he wouldn't spend his money with Mihawk later.

"What nice parents you have," Moria said. He could tell that the older teen thought him a liar. That was just fine. He didn't trust Moria anyway.

"I know," Doflamingo lied. "They're always giving away money."

He watched Moria's eye light up with excitement. Better not tell him it was birthday money. Then again, maybe he'd get some special deal. Oh why did he have to be addicted to cigarettes?

"You share the weed with Crocodile?" Moria asked. The goth was getting straight to the point. He wanted to make money. Obviously weed was the more expensive choice.

"I prefer Lucky Strikes," Doflamingo answered.

"You know, cigarettes are bad for your health," Moria said in a cautious tone. "They can give you cancer."

"And marijuana wont?" Crocodile remarked. Good, he could read through the bullshit too.

"I've heard it can cure cancer," Moria answered with a smile. "You know, Doflamingo, I can get you a great deal on sativa."

Doflamingo suddenly felt a hard stare rest on him. It was Crocodile's.

Addiction was a weakness. Crocodile must know this.

"Or are you more of an indica?" Moria asked.

"We don't buy indica," Crocodile suddenly blurted out.

"He might," Moria suggested, smirking deviously at the younger boy. "Some people like the body high."

Doflamingo couldn't help but take notice at Crocodile's sudden snap. What was wrong with indica? A body high sounded just as time-wasting as a mind high.

"Doflamingo, just get the stuff already!"

A thought arose in his mind. How pissed would Crocodile be if he got the other kind? What would happen? What would Crocodile do? What _could_ he possibly do?

It was risky business, but earlier in the day Doflamingo had remembered that personal promise of his. Chaos. Could Crocodile adapt? He'd still get his drugs. What was so different between body and mind? You needed both to survive. And Crocodile was sick. Better to make his body tingle.

"Calm down," he said.

"What?" Crocodile and Moria both asked.

"What's taking indica like?" Doflamingo asked, turning to Moria.

"Don't get indica," Crocodile said, moving up to Doflamingo. seeing the older teen's bigger frame caused almost caused him to back away, but Doflamingo managed to hold his own and keep his eyes on Moria.

The goth smirked. "You'll feel fantastic. Indica leaves you able to be active."

Then Doflamingo looked up a Crocodile. "Why does it matter which one we get? 'Sides, wouldn't it be better to not waste time lying around in one spot?"

He could see the developing anger in Crocodile's eyes. _Fear. You're Afraid._

"I don't want indica."

He decided to test strange waters. "I've never had it before."

"You hardly ever smoke it."

"You can have what I don't use."

"I prefer the mind high." Doflamingo couldn't figure out why Crocodile would prefer one thing to the other, especially when that thing was free. Crocodile couldn't seem to grasp the concept. Doflamingo found this so fascinating. It was an amazing trait to have…were Crocodile not addicted to the sensation.

_You wanted to mold him, right?_

Control. Chaos. Doflamingo knew he had the advantage. It was his birthday. Crocodile was ill. He was promised a treat. Doflamingo could give it to him. It just wouldn't be the right one. What could he possibly do, other than leave? No, Crocodile wouldn't leave. His pride wouldn't let him secede. Crocodile wouldn't give up. He'd lose a battle, but certainly wouldn't give up a fight. That was the problem with his need for control and order. What was the worse he could do?

Doflamingo smiled. "Well," he said, "it's _my_ money."

And Crocodile never bought him a pack of cigarettes again.

* * *

**-Now-**

The sounds of crickets could be heard chirping through the open sliding glass window. Doflamingo pursed his lips together; his pupils contracting as he slowly lifted his head up and found the intense light of a setting sun welcoming him. He took a final drag from his cigarette as he sank into the seat of his couch.

He rubbed the butt of his cigarette into the ashtray while letting his tongue drag across the dry roof of his mouth. He stared at a small notepad that lay on his table, staring at the one name that he had written on it. He moved in closer. He practically hovered over the notepad.

Vergo, Monet and Caesar would all be focusing on the drug business. Bellamy and his gang, canon fodder, would be engaged in whatever Vergo had planned for the business. This would work well. No one needed to be added, and no one ought to be subtracted.

Doflamingo looked down at the notepad again and stared at the single name that he had written on it. He wondered, licking his tobacco thirsty lips, what he was to do with Violet. That girl was still so young, but not too rebellious, and though he had her in his grasp he couldn't help but wonder what use she could have outside the usual dealings. He couldn't just let her go, not with the information she had from years of slaving underneath him, but he didn't think it would be too fair to place such a burden underneath Diamante, Trebol, or Pica.

Doflamingo picked up the pen that lay next to the notepad and wrote down Baby 5's name on it, pausing for a moment before deciding to add Pica's name right next to hers. Baby seemed dedicated to get her work down and if she continued with her training as she said she would (all paid for by her until Doflamingo decided she had earned a reimbursement), Doflamingo was sure she would work well underneath Pica. This decision was only temporary until he could make contact with the older man and decide whether he would be willing to have her.

"I got dinner!" Doflamingo heard an overly cheery voice from behind him call out. He continued to stare at the notepad as Trebol walked into the living room, along with Diamante, carrying two bags of to go meals.

"Do you have names?" Doflamingo muttered.

"I actually called a guy I met back in Amsterdam," Diamante remarked. "Guy is a bit queer, but I think he's got what it takes."

"You think?"

"Diamante," Trebol interrupted. He leaned in close to the taller man, earning an uncomfortable grunt from Diamante, "you can't just say that. It's inappropriate."

Doflamingo responded. "He clearly didn't mean it that way." Trebol sank back into his seat; giving Diamante his much needed space. Doflamingo eyed the bags that were resting on the table. "So, what did you get me?"

"Food, or the guy?" Diamante asked.

"Both," Doflamingo answered.

"Mexican tonight," Diamante answered, lifting a Styrofoam container out from the plastic bag. "And the guy goes by the name Pink. Not sure what his real name is. Anyways, he seems pretty interested in the operation."

"And how much did you tell him about the operation?" Trebol asked.

"Everything he needed to know," Diamante answered, pulling out another container and handed it to Trebol, "can't expect to catch his full attention if I leave any detail out. Sides, Doflamingo's idea is so crazy that no one would believe him even if he decided to tell."

Doflamingo smirked. "Is that what you think?"

"We're getting into some heavy black-market stuff here," Diamante said, handing Doflamingo his meal. "The kind of stuff you see romanticized in the movies. Shit, no one will expect us to succeed."

Doflamingo opened his container and stared at a red and yellow mess, his poor human eyes only capable of making out the refried beans.

"But we will," he said.

"Exciting," Trebol remarked.

"Things are gonna get pretty insane soon," Diamante said with a laugh.

And then Caesar called.

* * *

**-Then-**

Doflamingo first took weed in Crocodile's basement. Of course Crocodile had already been high upon entering and had no problem sharing his pipe with Doflamingo. Like the excited idiot he was Doflamingo went ahead and deeply inhaled his first hit of hot, bitter and earthy fumes, nearly choking himself to death when he felt the smoke tickle his throat, his central nervous system enveloped in a warmth he had never known possible. It was good. It was damn near wonderful until Doflamingo realized he had spent three hours in a basement, sitting on his ass doing nothing but talking about…what did they talk about? He couldn't remember; that was just how bad it was. He remembered thinking up amazing thoughts, but almost all of them dissipated once he came through. He could recall Mihawk showing up and taking a few hits before…damn, there it goes again. Whether it was a result of taking in too much, his virgin lungs and brain, or a combination of other things Doflamingo wasn't too sure. But he hated the idea of wasting precious time sitting on a worn couch, doing absolutely nothing of value.

Worst of all…Crocodile was doing this on a regular basis.

And Crocodile now.

Doflamingo coughed. He looked over at the ashtray lying on top of the table, his dry eyes blinking and refocusing on the burning tip of what remained. He had done the whole damn thing. Crocodile refused. Damn. Though he has thought he wouldn't care about Crocodile's stubborn attitude, there was some pain in seeing him refuse just a hit.

He let his fingers grab hold of the carpeting; his nerves shooting a message up his fingers, hand, wrist, arm, muscles, wet and red and bone, and shoulder, and every little bit of his spine; nerves, vertebrae and cells, crawling, tickling, licking up his neck, till, finally, reaching up into his brain, exploding over and over, yelling and shouting with glee: "you've gone and grabbed the soft carpet!" He smiled.

He heard Crocodile laugh. Doflamingo turned, looking over and staring at the spread figure on the couch. His eyes first laid on Crocodile's thin, long leg. Through those faded, worn out jeans he could make out that fine, desirable figure.

"Wow. You are so out of it." Another laugh. It's slower and lasts longer as it rings inside Doflamingo's ears. Wasn't this stuff only supposed to work on the body?

"You're happier." Doflamingo muttered. He removed his shades and stared up at Crocodile. "Didn't think you'd get over it so quickly?"

He watched the smirk on Crocodile's face shrink. "I'm still thinking up a punishment."

Had Doflamingo any idea that Crocodile was about to take away his smoking privileges he might have said something, might have fought back. Instead he crawled closer to the couch, his shaky hand griping Crocodile's leg before being flung away by the older boy. Doflamingo didn't seem to notice or care about the sudden rejection.

"You're so warm," he said, looking at his hand. He could still feel the heat sinking into his palm.

"I'm sick, remember?"

Doflamingo looked at the pale face and suddenly recalled that worry of his.

"I forgot."

"Obviously," Crocodile remarked.

Doflamingo leaned against the couch, detecting the heat from it's inhabitant and felt his throat go dry as his eyes once again laid on the ashtray, then to the small baggie with the remaining weed.

He slowly opened his mouth. "Have some." The words seemed to echo throughout the living room.

"No," Crocodile said.

"It feels good," Doflamingo said.

"I don't care," the older boy answered. _No, you care_.

Doflamingo stood up, hovering above the lying body on the couch. Crocodile looked to the direction of the TV, purposely ignoring Doflamingo's presence. Doflamingo concentrated on the sounds behind him. He concentrated on the feeling on his socks soaking deeper into the carpeting, sinking into quicksand flooring.

"Why can't you have fun?"

Crocodile slowly turned his head over and grabbed a throw pillow, burying hid face in it.

"I miss when we did everything together." Doflamingo sank back down, his knees hitting the floor hard. There was no pain but there was a constant reminder that he had made sudden contact. He reached out and touched Crocodile's shoulder. "You're no fun anymore."

"You need to grow up."

"You need to relax."

"You promised you'd get me MY STUFF."

"I can always buy more later."

"You suck."

"You're weak."

Crocodile peered out from the pillow and stared heavily at Doflamingo. It was around this time he had probably decided to not buy cigarettes for Doflamingo ever again. Doflamingo felt Crocodile pull his shoulder away from him. The blond reached out again and grabbed hold of the bottom of older boys shirt.

"You're supposed to be better than me," Doflamingo said. "You're supposed to teach me how to break all the rules…but we stopped doing that." He took a deep breath. His mind briefly went fuzzy from the rush of fresh air. "I miss that. Crocodile. I miss it all. I want to burn things. I want you to tell me to burn things. Lets do it. Now."

A sweet painful sensation between his legs stopped him from getting any closer. There was another painful sensation from Crocodile yanking his shirt free from Doflamingo's shaky grasp.

"Crocodile?" Doflamingo said aloud.

"You need to grow the fuck up."

"…it's my birthday."

"…I know." A long pause. Crocodile sighed. "But you're not a child anymore."

"We need to leave."

"What do you mean?"

"We need to get out of here, now." Doflamingo could feel his throat tighten with the passion that he had kept trapped inside for so long. "We need to leave this town. We need to get out of here…"

"You're really high."

"It's not the drugs."

"Oh yes it is," Crocodile said. "You're feeling pretty confident now. But it's a really stupid idea." _No_. "All of this is just stuff that sounds nice for right now." _No. Please_.

…

…what happened then?

… _what did I do then?_

Disappointment. Doflamingo opened his eyes and looked the living room. His eyes ached with the pain of constant irritation. Had he rubbed them prior? He was sure he hadn't cried from the news.

Crocodile was hopeless. The words stung his chest with a pain he could barely acknowledge. It seemed beyond his comprehension. Doflamingo blinked a few more times before turning over and spotting the sleeping form on the couch. There was a blanket now covering Crocodile. Some time must have passed. Once again weed wasted the hours away. Fucking weed. Never buy it again. Never let Crocodile have another opportunity with it again. _Crocodile._

Doflamingo grabbed the table and used it as support as he struggled to get himself standing. He looked out the window and noticed a drastic change in the stretching of long, twisted shadows. Indeed, some time had passed.

He took a step forward, hunching over and grabbing his bag so that he could properly dispose of it. He knew Crocodile wouldn't smoke it. Pride. Fear. Whatever. It didn't matter anymore. But he didn't want Crocodile near it. Doflamingo reached out for the larger bag, the graphic novel that Crocodile had actually spent money on to get for him. He didn't steal it. Doflamingo ought to have been happy. He had been happy. Now he was pissed. He left the bag alone.

He turned his attention to Crocodile. The boy looked red faced. Doflamingo didn't care. He was in that curled position. Doflamingo didn't care. He felt his lips part as he watched the sleeping form beneath him, each inhale a crime against Doflamingo.

Twisted thoughts sprung up in the back of his mind. Crocodile could not adapt. He would not embrace any change. He was old. He was a part that could not be fixed. Doflamingo tried his best to let these words affect him correctly. He wanted to forget the importance of their private relationship. He desperately wanted to fall out of love.

He wasn't sure how it happened but Doflamingo once again ended up on the carpet, his knees shaking and his hands grasping the cushions of the couch as he carefully leaned forward and let his head hover above a sleeping Crocodile. Doflamingo was very aware of his situation. He knew he shouldn't. He knew he was under some influence and yet couldn't come to blame the high on what he was about to do. Nothing could have stopped it. Not the knowledge of the truth, the promise that in four years time he would have the body beneath him, not the promise that Crocodile would attempt to fulfill for him.

So he did it. Doflamingo brought his lips against the heated cheeks, not the least bit surprised by the amazing outcome. He could feel the heat, the burning flesh against his chapped lips, running through his face to his mind and bringing forth an emotional pleasure that he couldn't have never imagined. He knew it was going to feel good. It felt good. He would have done it again but fear pulled his lips away from the sleeping form, sexual guilt forcing him to hurry up and get out of the house as soon as he could.

It felt good. Doflamingo could feel his lips tickle, his heart pump with hurt and passion as he ran out of the house, forgetting his bike as he ran across the neighborhood, his body breaking into the occasional skip as every nerve in his body took hold of the new memory and began to play it over and over again.

He ran faster than he ever had before, his body bursting with a sensation he would only experience through future liaisons with the same person. As he kept going, somehow making it to the bus stop, his heart racing, he grabbed hold of the baggie in his jacket and pulled it out, staring at it with a strange look. He tried to think of why Crocodile might refuse to take something that made his body feel so magnificent. He tried to think of a way to get Crocodile to never smoke the stuff again. He thought of a way to never have to see the boy again.

The feeling lasted forever.


	8. Countdown to Doomsday

**Part 1**

**-Now-**

"I know we're not ready for Kaido," Doflamingo muttered into his cupped hands. His shaded spectacles were aimed over at Diamante's pacing. The two men stood waiting in front of an old diner, a meet up spot for the newest arrivals. Neither or them were thinking too much about it though, not with such new burdens brought on by their cook.

"You ought to fire him," Diamante finally said. "I'm sorry Doffy, but you really ought to fire him."

"We can't afford such a luxury." Doflamingo knew a specialist like Caesar was rare. And if he were able to catch the eyes of Kaido… he'd be a fool to let him go now.

"We got a goddamn pirate asking for your stuff," Diamante reminded.

"I know."

"He'll be pissed if we don't deliver."

"I know, Diamante, I know. You don't need to keep reminding me."

He ought to kill Caesar. The clown was not listening and Doflamingo wasn't about to be made a fool of. He was making new treats behind his back and handing them out like candy…and now he had a madman asking for more. Doflamingo had no means of transporting such quantity, had no way of producing the amount needed, not without him risking the money saved up for his other trade. He hated being backed into a corner with such limited options. He did not want to give up his money.

"I ought to kill him."

"You should…"

"Won't change the fact that he promised Kaido some of our product."

"What the fuck…"

"He sounded so happy," Doflamingo bought his fingers together, playing a private harmony with them as he looked up at the sunset, still pondering over his situation. "He must have though he was doing us all a favor."

"What are you gonna do?"

"We don't have enough to ship that much drugs across the Asian border…" Doflamingo sighed, letting his shades fall down the bridge of his nose. "Honestly, I don't even know if we have enough time to produce that much product."

"Caesar must want us to help him."

"He's certainly expecting it," Doflamingo responded. "I suspect Monet knows how to cook herself now, seeing how much time she spends with him. Vergo should be able to make quality product as well."

"Everyone else?"

"I don't want you guys to waste your time," he replied. "I'll help make it, but anything after that...I'll just kill Caesar if it doesn't look good."

Diamante shivered. "Such risky business."

"Do you regret being brought into this?"

"Of course not," Diamante said with a nervous smile. "This is the most fun I've had in a while!"

Doflamingo smiled back at his old friend. "That's good to here." He looked into the diner and stared at the nervous form of Baby 5, staring blankly at the waiter who wondered when in the hell she would order the food instead of just sitting there like a little fool, holding the booth for him and Diamante. "C'mon, it's getting late. We better head inside."

* * *

**-Then-**

Doflamingo began visiting Crocodile every other week, averaging a total of four visits a month; forty-eight visits a year. It started as a way of getting back at Crocodile for taking away his pack of cigarettes, but ended up becoming a way of easing the pain of a lovesick heart.

He'd show up feeling jealous but relieved when he came upon the two older boys hanging out. Each time Crocodile appeared surprised. Doflamingo wished it were because Crocodile missed him, but he knew the boy was surprised he had bothered to show at all. The three-year a gap between them was becoming more apparent. At thirteen and sixteen Doflamingo was an embarrassment for Crocodile to have around. He was thin. Short. His arms and legs were misshaped weeds that grew in unorganized patterns. His voice cracked. He had nothing new to say that Crocodile hadn't already said or experienced.

And he began to visit less and less. And he began to make new friends. In the beginning of his 9th year he met a boy sitting in front of the principle's office. He had been called in for his haircut; a long, gender non-conforming cut that was not allowed at the conservative private school he attended. The boy was Diamante. The long-haired Diamante was a tall stick bug of a boy that somehow managed to defy his bodily physics and gracefully pass through the halls while trashing up lockers and stealing the real food from the cafeteria. He also had a knack for flag football. Doflamingo never would admit to it, but the he really did like the haircut, enough to give it a try and allow his own hair to grow out.

About a month later the two boys snuck through the back of the school campus to try to jump fence. It was there that they spotted the older, 10th year student Trebol. Instead of ratting the two out Trebol instead showed them where the gate was oldest and where the bottom part of the fence capable of being lifted with some help. Despite his clingy behavior and lactose intolerance, Doflamingo looked up to his senior, learning where all the weak points of the school were, which instructors to take if he never wanted to get noticed, and so on.

Two more months went by, his weekends now filled with new adventures consisting of the chaos he had longed for. They stole right in front of the eyes of store owners. They drew magnificent works of art on the walls with cans of spray-paint. Smiles, smiles; all around they wrecked up the little world around them, doing whatever they could to draw smiles on each others faces.

Three months later and a moving truck drove by Doflamingo's house, alerting his family that a new couple could afford to live in their neighborhood. It was quite the scene. Everyone gathered to see who had moved, only to discover that not only was it an interracial couple, but Mormon as well. There he met Pica. Pica was a nice guy. So they became friends. He also had a really fine, _goddess_ of an older sister…

With their newest member Doflamingo discovered the joy he had almost forgotten when he had left the little desert. The four of them ran about the town, raising all sorts of new hell and Doflamingo damn near forgot that there had ever been a Crocodile to begin with. That is, until that one particular day…

Doflamingo remembered it all. He was sitting, a small bag of chips in his hands, thinking the usual thoughts of a fourteen year old boy.

Doflamingo hated to think about it, but he could not deny that he was craving a certain sensation that could only be brought by the consent of another human being. But he was a fourteen-year-old boy, and not too many girls he thought were cute or attractive wanted anything to do with him. And there was no point in wondering about the rougher, sculpted form of boys. Though Doflamingo would do for either one he could not have any. And it bothered the hell out of him.

"Hey. Hey Doffy."

The blond looked up, eyes squint through his old worn out shades as he peered at the shadowy figure above him.

"What Trebol?" he asked.

"You're not gonna believe what I got for you."

Doflamingo went back to his bag of chips. He was in a perpetual state of hunger. Hunger for oils. Hunger for fats. Hunger for flesh. He wondered if this was all temporary, a problem of the mind and body that would be fixed with time, or would he die feeling this way?

The boy pulled out a small bag. Doflamingo lowered his shades just to make sure he was seeing what he thought he had seen. A small pout. "No thanks," he muttered.

Poor Trebol frowned. "What?"

"I don't like pot," Doflamingo remarked. He ate the last of his chips before dropping the bag beside him. He stood up and looked around the back of the fenced school property. He wondered if there was time to sneak out and treasure his self with a cream soda.

"You've done weed already?

"Yeah. I hate the stuff," Doflamingo said rather calmly. He knew better though. He didn't hate the pot. It wasn't the poor drug's fault that he had negatively associated it with lethargy and ignorance, inability to adapt and take control.

"When the fuck did you try it?"

Detecting the animosity the blond deduced that he had committed an offense by failing to properly communicate to his friend. Once again, the drug was not the problem. The rarity of supply and demand was. What sort of friend takes drugs without sharing? Doflamingo had failed to mention to Trebol the sexual frustration brought on by Crocodile. He forgot to mention the pot Crocodile took. He had forgotten Crocodile. "I took it a long time ago. With a guy I knew."

"A guy?" Doflamingo understood that Trebol was expecting a better answer than this. Nonetheless he was still fighting back the red cheeks as he rediscovered a pain he thought he had gotten over. He tapped at his sunglasses. The specs were worn out from use and had scratches from where finger grabbed at the lenses.

"An old friend," Doflamingo reiterated. "I had this major crush on him. But he became a dick and I couldn't stand liking him, so now we don't really talk."

"Wait…what?" Trebol lowered the baggie and stared at Doflamingo with an almost amusing expression. Doflamingo would have laughed were it not for the fact that he had just made a major confession and was secretly hoping for a sunshine and lollipops and rainbow and kitty-cats response from Trebol.

"So…you don't like girls?"

"I like girls."

"But you said you liked this guy…"

"I like guys."

"So you're a bisexual?"

Doflamingo brought a finger to his lip, biting down on it as he thought about that particular word. Could Trebol really define his being with such a simple word? Things could never be _that_ easy.

Trebol quickly added, "not that there's anything wrong with it. I mean…I guess it makes sense. B-but I'm not stereotyping or anything!"

Certainly not sunshine and daisies, but Doflamingo was willing to accept it if it meant Trebol would understand him better as a person. He did not like the word though. He was not a bi, whatever that was supposed to _really_ mean.

Doflamingo felt huge arms wrap around his thin frame. Frowning, he looked at Trebol and asked, "what are you doing?"

"I'm here if you need to talk," the older boy cooed.

"I don't need a talk. I need space."

"Oh."

Doflamingo was promptly freed from the older boy's grasp. He looked down at the empty bag of chips with his old sunglasses. He focused hard on the scratches and stains now permanent to the shades. He removed them from his face and stared in dismay at how little he had cared for them. These were supposed to last an eternity!

"How are you feeling?"

Realistically he should have felt relief. Trebol did not reject him for his sexuality. He still retained the friendship, which meant Trebol was a true friend. Odds were Diamante would do the same. Pica was questionable, but considering the acts of delinquency he had recently committed Doflamingo would not be too surprised he didn't mind. He should feel happy.

This was something to cry over. He should have felt something, other than the sadness of having lost something precious. Doflamingo, still staring at the old shades, replied, "I guess I'm happy."

"So, not weed then?" _Ah, Trebol knew._

"No…no weed, _please_."

* * *

**-Now-**

"Whitebeard Territory?"

The thought would have never occurred to Doflamingo. He had no aspirations to travel down to the dangerous south because Whitebeard, like Kaido, was not a man he wanted to upsetting. He glared through his shades at the one of the men sitting across from him. He was a portly, older fellow with messy hair and a calm demeanor. Next to him was younger man dressed dark in leather and worn out, metal material, with such a ridiculous haircut Doflmaingo began second-guessing his friend's ability to pick out…well, _other_ friends.

"The Mexican border expects drug coming out, not coming in," the older man called Pink said. "If you know how to mark it, no one will suspect a thing."

"I don't think we can afford a nice package," Diamante said with a weak smile, giving the occasional glace to a silent Doflamingo. "I mean, I get what you're saying, but shipping costs down south…then across the ocean?"

The man with the tragic haircut, called Gladius, finally spoke." What if this Whitebeard guy spots it?"

Pink smirked. "The right kind of package won't attract the attention of a rival pirate."

Doflamingo glared. "You keep talking about packages." He leaned on the table, edging himself closer to Pink. "Tell me your plan or leave. Don't waste my time."

"You said you plan on selling men and women," Pink calmly, confidently replied. A small smile appeared on Doflamingo's face. "Just send mules. Touristy, young, attractive mules."

Diamante nearly jumped out of his seat. "Oh! That's good!"

"Won't the pirates try to take them?" Gladius asked, peering through goggles that made Doflamingo think back to younger days, and making him cringe in response. But both him and Diamante were interested in the question that was posed and both turned to see what the older man would say.

Pink nod his head. "I grew up in South America. I know there are a lot of scummy people who would like to get their hands on young, dumb looking tourists and hold them ransom…but not for drugs. If you take the plane to a "safe" part of the south, stay a few days in a hotel, and then another plane to the East, you should be fine."

"Why a few days?" Gladius asked.

"Easy," Doflamingo said, "even though there are more drugs leaving the south than coming in, the last thing we want is to raise any suspicion. Give the local authorities the impression these girls are out to have fun."

"If that's the case then why not have the girls sent straight across the ocean?" Diamante asked.

"It's a long trip," Pink said. "You can't expect the girls to hold in all those drugs during such a flight. Have them swallow the drugs, go down south, rest at the hotel and swallow them again...but with a new seal."

Doflamingo raised his brow, letting a fork pick at the remains of his meal.

"One of you will go ahead of the girls," Pink said. "There's a guy I know down there that sells quality rubber, made just for mules. They'll be constipated, but considering the many hours they'll be stuck on the plane..."

"More spending," Diamanté grumbled.

"Still cheaper than shipping in a giant, conspicuous box," Doflamingo said. He grinned at Pink. "And I suspect you'll want to do all of this?"

Pink shrugged. "Me? You? Doesn't matter. I'm trying to earn trust here. If you think I'm being suspicious then send Mr. Steam Punk here in my stead."

"What the fuck did you call me!?" The oddly dressed man stood up, fists balled as he glared furiously at Pink.

"Gladius, sit down!" Diamante hissed. "We don't want to cause a scene."

Doflamingo watched the younger, messy haired man grumble and spit out a few more obscene words before sitting himself down and looking back at both Diamante and Doflamingo. "Sorry," he said in a rougher voice. "I just…I have a bit of an anger problem."

"That's alright," Doflamingo said. "Just get the job done, and I'll forget it ever happened."

Gladius raised his head up, tearing off his goggles and staring at Doflamingo with some astonishment. "Really?" he asked. "You're sending me?"

"Yeah." Doflamingo said with a smirk. "And you can Baby 5 here with you." He pointed over to the young girl sitting at the booth, staring back at the four of them with her adorable smile.

Gladius stared, wide eyed, his cheeks turning a light pink as he uttered the word, "Five?"

"And while you two are down there…" Diamante started.

"…You can pick up a friend of ours," Doflamingo finished.

"Uh-huh," Gladius said, not entirely paying attention as he eyed Baby 5's long legs. "Who…who is it?"

"Pica. Don't worry, you won't miss him," Doflamingo responded. "Baby 5 will take the girls the rest of the way…."

"Actually," Diamante interrupted. "We should send Gladius to the East."

Doflamingo turned. "Why? A guy with several girls is a lot more suspicious than a bunch of young girls, especially a man dressed…" He stopped as he saw Gladius sharply turn his head over at him. "…A men dressed in such exotic attire."

"That's just it," Diamante answered. "They're going to Japan. Gladius will fit in just fine. And he'll be able to watch over the girls better than Baby 5."

Pink chuckled. "He's got a point."

Doflamingo smirked, "I guess that settles it." He grinned at Pink. "You're a smart man, Mr. Pink."

The older man shrugged again. "I do my best... but, if you could, I would prefer to be called Señor Pink. If you don't mind."

"Not at all," the tall blond replied.

"We just need some girls…"

A new silence entered the booth. They would need women.

"How much did Kaido want again?" Diamante asked.

"A lot," Doflamingo muttered.

"How many girls will we need?"

"Too many," Doflamingo answered. "We'll never be able to pull it off."

Gladius frowned. "So we're screwed? Already!?"

"Gladius, calm down," Diamante helplessly cooed.

"No, no," Doflamingo responded. "Kaido is expecting a certain amount of product at a very particular purity level." He thought about it for a while and let go of his fork. "If I work really hard…I'm sure, no I _know_ I can get the purity percentage higher. At least five percent. Cleaner. Kaido won't like that we're giving him less, but he'll have no choice but to accept it if the quality is higher than what he expects."

"That's wishful thinking," he heard Señor Pink say.

"Doffy's full of it," Diamante said. "You'd be surprised what he's accomplished so far."

"Still," Gladius said with some hesitance. "We need women. Where are we going to get some girls willing to risk their lives?

Doflamingo turned and stared back at Baby 5. He played with his food some more as he debated over what he was about to ask. The human body was weak, and delivering such precious material across so many borders would be incredibly risky to such young, fleshy female forms. He suddenly remembered what was at risk.

He called. "Baby."

He could detect several sets of eyes resting on him. He knew what he was going to ask would leave quite the impression on Pink and Gladius, perhaps even Diamante as well. He wondered how terrible of a man he could get away with being without losing the respect of his peers.

"Yes?" she asked.

"Do you know any girls who used to work at the strip club?" Doflamingo asked. He could hear the sounds of bodies uncomfortably moving around in the booths. He continued, "You know…girls who could use some money?"

* * *

**-Then-**

An addiction; that was what Crocodile was to him. Addictions need to be avoided for the rest of the addict's life, otherwise there was a risk of falling back into old bad habits.

Doflamingo was riding his bike around in circles thinking about where he was supposed to go. He knew the multiple ways to get to Crocodile's house. He knew if he turned a corner now it would take only about half an hour. If he went straight and took the alleyway it would be about twenty minutes. There were so many ways he could cheat himself.

The boy feverishly looked down long rows of houses, paying no attention to the direction he was headed. The sun was shining bright but he let his precious shades rest in his shirt pocket. The specs had suddenly regained a special worth. He could not risk them being further worn down by the unforgiving atmosphere.

Doflamingo stopped and looked around and realized that the houses around him were becoming familiar. He rubbed his worn sneakers against the heated asphalt as he counted the gap between now and the last time he had spoke with the older teen. Two, four, seven months since they had really talked to each other. If he counted the few times he chose to call Crocodile, if only to let him know he was not going to come over a particular weekend, then that made it five months.

It was a terrible habit. Doflamingo knew he could have turned back now and saved his self the misery that was sure to come. Such long breaks were not without consequences. _How life changing this would turn out to be._

"Hey Doffy."

The squeaky voice of a female caused Doflamingo to turn his head and look over to see a young girl sitting at the edge of a yard.

It was Hancock. The boy frowned. He was only a few blocks away from Mihawk's house.

"I haven't seen you in a long time," the girl said. Her voice was playful. It was sweet like overly processed candy. She placed her Gameboy down and slowly approached Doflamingo. Each of her steps was full of a vibrant, visible energy. "I thought you had moved away," she said, still smiling. "You know, it's been such a long time."

"Several months," Doflamingo responded dully. "Look, I need to–"

The girl chuckled. "We should hang out more."

"I need to find my fr…Mihawk and Crocodile." It was strange saying Mihawk's name before Crocodile's. It felt out of place to even have said them in the first place.

"They're gone," Hancock replied. "They left a while ago."

There was some relief in hearing this. Doflamingo now understood that he could not see Crocodile today. This was his second chance. He knew this was a sign to stay away.

And yet…he had to know. He needed to know where Crocodile was. The thought was so sudden, so subconscious that Doflamingo had little control over the need to ask. The words practically flew out from his lips.

"Where did they go?"

The sun was beating down on him. It was supposed to be getting cooler. _The weather was so unforgiving that day._

Hancock shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't see them leave. But Mihawk said they were going camping." She rested a soft hand on Doflamingo's bike, testing his ability to tolerate her. Doflamingo never hated the girl. Looking back, Doflamingo did feel some regret for the way he would eventually mistreat her. Right now she was a necessity.

"Camping?"

"Yeah, I saw Mihawk and asked if he would trade Pokémon with me, but he said he was going camping with Crocodile."

"And you know they're gone because…"

The girl got closer. Too close. Doflamingo could feel his chest speed up when he suddenly noticed that Hancock was developing into a fine young woman. "Mihawk was in a real hurry," she said.

"So they're gone." Doflamingo sighed through his nose and got off from his bike. He let it fall on the ground as he stood, impatient, upset, but overall relaxed and feeling comforted that this was the end of today's misadventure.

"Yeah. You know, Doffy, we should really hang out together more often."

Doflamingo reassured himself that this was good news. The only reason he had even rode over here was based off some foolish, emotional presumption that he needed to see Crocodile. But there was really no reason to. Doflamingo had friends back home that understood him, had fun with him, that enjoyed the sort of chaos that he engaged in. Crocodile was with Mihawk, and they were doing whatever they felt made life enjoyable. Crocodile may have failed to adapt to the cruel beauty that Doflamingo had hoped for, but life was never in his favor. Friends inevitably drifted apart. While Doflamingo was admittedly having a hard time grasping this reality he knew it was true. The moment Crocodile rejected the desert as their private oasis was the beginning of a downward fall of many differences.

This was all right. Everything was going to be ok. Doflamingo reassured himself that this was all good, wonderful news.

He noticed the girl was still staring at him, waiting for an answer. He rolled his eyes. "No, I don't think we can."

Hancock pouted. "Why not?" she asked.

Doflamingo sighed. He pulled his sunglasses from his pocket and stared affectionately at the old memories that were springing forth from the dark reflection. "There is really no reason for me to be here anymore."

He watched Hancock pull away. Her face twisted into a sad, little frown.

"Why?" she asked. "Why can't we have fun together? Is it cause I'm a girl? Cause you don't want to be seen with me?"

Doflamingo rolled his eyes again as he began to pick up his bike. He wondered if, perhaps, he should call Trebol or Pica and sneak into to see whatever new horror film was out.

"Doflamingo, listen to me!"

The boy yelped when he felt a sharp, hard smack hit the back of his head. Doflamingo felt his knees hit the ground. He let go of his bike and held on to his aching head; feeling tears well up in his eyes as he tried to gather what had just happened. His heart raced when he heard Hancock behind him, screaming and telling him off. His hand rubbed through messy blond locks. He had never felt so hurt.

The boy lunged up, immediately turning himself around and facing Hancock with a foul, evil expression. He wiped his face and took a threatening step forward.

"You hit me."

"You weren't listening to me," the girl said as a means to excuse her violent outburst. He raised his arm and saw her eyes go wide in animal-like terror.

"Don't move," he demanded in a cold voice.

She whimpered. "No!" Hancock made an attempt to run off, but Doflamingo realized this beforehand and made a grab for her thin arm. Without so much as a second thought he pulled her and with his free arm, smacked her hard on the cheek. Just one, hard, icy hot rushed contact between flesh that didn't at all make Doflamingo think about the huge social consequences that would possibly occur once he let go of her. But he did let go. And he watched her fall, screaming and crying, holding on to her red face.

Hancock cried, looking up at Doflamingo with red, wet eyes. "Why did you do that?" She rubbed her face and hiccuped. Her face was runny with bodily fluids. Doflamingo didn't care. The back of his head still ached. "Boys are not supposed to hit girls."

And then Doflamingo remembered the rules of gender etiquette. And he remembered that he had hit Hancock right in front of her house. And he remembered how far from home he was. He panicked. He got angry. "Y-yeah…well, girls aren't supposed to act like little fucking cunts!"

Hancock brought out into another scream. He was certainly not helping himself in any way.

Doflamingo grabbed his bike and rode off, gathering as much speed as he could to free himself from the terrible scene. He could feel panic race through his veins. He hit a girl. But she hit him first. It wasn't fair. She hit him first! He wanted somewhere to hide. He needed a safe place to think.

Doflamingo followed the setting sun, speeding past pedestrians and cars as he continued to rediscover new sets of emotions that he never new possible, trailblazing through lawns, alleyways and streets until he found the original pathway from long ago; the foggy dreams from a five year old boy.

* * *

**-Now-**

The small beachside apartment was filled with a new liveliness that Doflamingo was not yet used to. He sat in the middle of a crowded living room, watching all the members of his developing gang talk to one another, making merry while growing all the more anxious as they waited for the plan to unfold.

Aside from Señor Pink and Gladius there were another two new members walking about the apartment, introducing themselves to the older, more confident members; the familial members. Much like Gladius and Señor Pink, they too had Doflamingo raising more questions. He was beginning to feel average compared to some of these new members.

He sat in his seat and waited, giving in to the countdown while occasionally looking around his apartment. Monet was here, and if she was here then Caesar was somewhere avoiding him. Oh, what he would do once everyone left the apartment. The cost of shipping and handling would be taken from that clown! Doflamingo refused to take anymore from his honeypot. He needed that money so bad. How could he buy his Crocodile back? How could he find and capture that man?

"You look incredibly distracted."

Doflamingo looked up and stared grimly at Vergo. "You have something on your face," he replied stoically. "Chocolate."

"Ah, do I?" The man rubbed his face, moving the food around his cheek while keeping his shades directed at Doflamingo. "This plan of yours…"

"If one thing goes wrong we're all dead."

"Hmmm," Vergo turned his head and looked out the open window. He appeared nervous. Behind the thin veil everyone was going mad. They were all wondering what he was thinking. Oh, Doflamingo wondered, what sort of sick game did everyone think he was up to?

"Absolutely nothing must go wrong," Doflamingo muttered to Vergo.

"And if it does?"

"Hide. Tell my parents I amounted to absolutely nothing," Doflamingo responded.

Both men could now detect the presence of the many eyes glued to the two of them. The two of them were whispering to each other. Doflamingo understood what he was doing appeared inappropriate. These people needed guidance. They all desired the perfect leader. They were all waiting for him to tell the wonderful news that he had everything under control. This was just a game. He always won in the long run.

It seemed Vergo was reading his mind. The man inched his way closer before quickly saying, "they're waiting for you."

Doflamingo forced a wide grin. He was a dead man if he pissed off Kaido. He was a dead man if he was caught smuggling through Whitebeard Territory.

What was he if he couldn't have everything that he wanted?

Doflamingo grabbed his coat and hoisted himself up, immediately becoming the center of attention. All eyes on him, smiles and wide open mouths and nervous twitching lips surrounding him, waiting to see what amazing, inspirational words would be uttered from his glorious being.

"Everyone," he said, his voice nearing a growl at the very tail end. His arms raised a bit as he thought of what to say. He didn't have to think too long, seeing the light growing on their faces, the lips of family and strangers twisting upward as they all consciously decided _Yes, this man is a genius. He'll know what to do_ , and thinking it made Doflamingo feel as though they were right–perhaps this was all just a game and he was still thinking up the last few rules before making the turn that would help determine where he'd stand for the rest of the game, till the final climax where's he'd either win or lose, live or die.

"This is it! Win or lose, we're all in this together. Be prepared everyone because Smiles are back in!"

* * *

**-Then-**

A few houses were built up from the desert ground, with new paint and foundation, lined up with clean white pebbles or beautiful desert flowers. Doflamingo couldn't help but wonder if it was magic that brought them up, or if the desert willed the houses to appear one day and close the original pathway.

With the houses blocking the original opening to the desert Doflamingo was left with not choice but to leave his bike alone. He carefully placed it by an unattended, vacant house, hoping it would be good enough camouflage as he continued forward on foot. He snuck through the small gap between the new, modern looking messes and made his way back into the desert, now cold and purple with winds that would burn his eyes.

Doflamingo put the old shades back on his face. It was hard to see through. The desert was impossible to navigate through the growing darkness. He couldn't remember how he had managed it before, the sand sucked in every step he performed, like angry spiteful quicksand. He struggled his way through with unfocused eyes.

Without a proper jacket it didn't take long for Doflamingo to feel the cold winds beginning to punish him. He was starting to wonder if he should return home, forget everything he had done today and spend the night over with Diamante till his endorphins levels were back to normal.

He took a final step as he reconsidered what he was doing when he stared out and saw a distant light. His mouth dropped as he squint his eyes into thin slits, trying to make out what was so far away. He took another step. He could detect faraway movement, so he took several more steps, nearly tripping over cold, sharp stone.

There were three figures; two human, and something large like a car. Doflamingo didn't want to believe what he was seeing. In his heart he could feel a strange betrayal that was taking place. He would have been angry, but confusion grabbed hold of his mind, replacing logic with a need to take a hit of that old, terrible drug.

After almost tripping over another rock he slowed down. He was close enough to hear the two young men talking to one another, and they didn't seem to notice his presence in the darkness. It was better this way. Alone in the dark, he could learn why Crocodile had done this to him.

"…and you don't think they'll send you back to him?" Mihawk said shivering. He stood next to the small fire, his golden eyes shimmering over the huddled form that was next to a large pile of sand.

An icy, dark voice replied, "He won't take me." Crocodile's figure stood up and held a small box in his hands. Doflamingo remained still as his eyes lay on the box. He could feel something warm in his chest.

"You sound so sure."

"I haven't seen him since I was a kid," Crocodile said. Doflamingo caught a glimmer of light from Crocodile's eyes. A new wonder filled him as he saw the young man peer down at the small box, opening it with large hands.

Doflamingo had to voluntarily close his mouth. Crocodile had kept the money! He had kept his treasure!

Doflamingo felt his heart leap. There was a new flood of emotion. It had been so stale from before, practically dead, but now it was fresh a blooming, spreading across Doflamingo's being. New love.

He was wrong! Doflamingo was in the wrong! There was still hope! Dreams were still relevant!

"You're going to get caught."

"I have an alibi." The shadowy figure turned and glared at Mihawk's shaking form. "That is, I _still hope_ I have an alibi." It sounded so venomous.

"I'm not gonna tell," Mihawk said, not moving from his spot despite the tremble in his voice. "I just don't think this is the right way to go about it."

"She's useless. I don't need her anymore."

"You're just upset."

He watched the taller figure lower his head. There was silence. The two men stared at each other. Doflamingo couldn't wait any longer. He began to take another step. Something was going on. Crocodile still had the box. Doflamingo just knew Mihawk was trying to ruin everything! He was going to stop him from opening the box. He was going to tie up what little spirit Crocodile still had and force the box back in the dirt!

"Maybe we should go back and rethink the plan…"

Doflamingo took in a cold gulp of air and called out. "Hey!"

Both Mihawk and Crocodile jumped. The box fell. Two sets of eyes stared wide into the darkness, desperate to make out what had called them. Doflamingo could see their legs. Crocodile's was shaking now.

Doflamingo felt a smile appear as he brought himself into the firelight.

Mihawk remained poised in the same stiff position. Crocodile immediately relaxed, but his expression still had something dark about it. Neither were smiling.

"Doflamingo…"

"Why are you here?" Mihawk asked.

"Why are _you_ here?" Doflamingo turned the question around. The older teen sneered at him. Crocodile just stared, his breathing slowly down.

"That's none of your business," Mihawk replied. "Doflamingo…you really should not be here. You need to leave, now."

"I came here on my own free will," Doflamingo said, still smirking at Mihawk. "I came here because I had to. And I see you here…what are the odds, right? I need to be here!"

"No, you need to leave now!" Mihawk said, now pointing at the young blond. He walked over and tried to grab Doflamingo. He dodged the arm, moving closer to Crocodile, who seemed to have a small smiling growing in the dark. Mihawk groaned. "This isn't right! Crocodile! You tell him he has to leave now!"

Crocodile produced a slow, terrifying laugh. Both boys shivered.

"I have my alibi," he said.

"Great. Just fucking great."

"What's your alibi?" Doflamingo asked. He removed his shades and stared up at the dark face.

Crocodile smiled. "We're camping."

"All night long?"

"All night long. Unless you don't mind us hitting your place right after we're done."

Doflamingo was thankful for the terrible lighting produced by the fire. He doubted that anyone could see the blush growing on his face. Crocodile had grown so much since he had last seen him. Even in the darkness Doflamingo was having a hard time not staring at all the changes.

"That won't be a problem," he said.

"Because it got so cold we had to go back…"

"Uh-huh, yeah." Doflamingo peered down and stared at the box. "Your old box?" he asked.

"I had to get a new one."

Doflamingo knelt down and picked it up, "but you still have one. I'm glad. Very glad."

"So am I."

"This is a bad idea, Crocodile. You're going to get caught." Mihawk stomped over to the two with his arms wrapped tightly around his thin frame. "Doflamingo, don't pick that up!"

Doflamingo handed the box over to Crocodile, feeling rather proud of himself. Mihawk was nothing now. The older teen probably thought he had successfully replaced Doflamingo. Ha. It seemed Crocodile still appreciated his presence. Doflamingo saw it. He could never be replaced.

 _And then Crocodile pulled a handgun out of the box_.

Suddenly the game stopped. Doflamingo stared, mesmerized by the deadly utensil held so naturally by the young man. Against the light of the fire the weapon seemed to be alive with a wild, possessive energy. He wondered what sort of look Mihawk had on his face. The look on Crocodile's was utterly fascinating.

"Where did you get that?" he asked.

"Don't worry about it. I'm not going to use it on you. _Or you_." The last two were direct at Mihawk. Doflamingo's stomach felt like it was already full of lead.

"What's it for?" The questions just kept rolling out. Doflamingo's head was full of them. Was this what the money was for? Did that tiny little boy from long ago really wan to go out and buy a gun?

The gun was not chaotic. In the hands of someone chaotic it could be used as a tool of chaos. Not that the gun itself mattered. It was death. The end all. The game over. Why did Crocodile have such a terrible tool in his possession? Did he not understand the game was on pause because he carried it so proudly in his hand? Did he realize what would happen if he pressed play while it still lay in his possession?

"You wouldn't understand, Doflamingo," Crocodile answered. "It's best you remain in the dark. You like it that way. You just need to promise me that all we did tonight was go camping. We got so cold. And so we spent the night at your place. Go ahead and add that we did some drugs…we can't be too innocent."

"I…I don't like that," Doflamingo muttered.

"Crocodile. You're angry. You desperate because you think you can't get what you want. But if you just relax and–"

"Mihawk, just shut the fuck up," Crocodile snapped. His hand moved. Therefore the gun moved. Both Doflamingo and Mihawk jumped. "We're not talking about this anymore."

"I-I don't know," Doflamingo started. His eyes would not leave the gun. He should have known better. Crocodile was surely eyeing him like a bad target. A distraction. Something in the way that needed moving.

"What?"

"Maybe we should listen to Mihawk," Doflamingo said. "That, or maybe you could tell me what the gun is for?"

Crocodile leered at him through a thin, golden slit. The scowl on his face frightened Doflamingo.

"I want to help you, I really do," Doflamingo said, eyes still on the gun. "I just want to know why you have the gun. You know I came all the way over here because I felt like shit? I went over riding to your house."

"Bull," Crocodile said. He smiled cruelly at the boy. "You went off to play in that precious little gated wonderland of yours for several months."

Doflamingo shrugged. "Yeah, that's true. I tried my best to forget."

Crocodile's head tilted ever so slightly to the side. He continued to watch, examine the boy. There was no moon. The only light provided was from the fire. Doflamingo couldn't make out Crocodile's expressions.

"…Explain to me why I should even listen to someone like you?"

"I don't know why, Crocodile," Doflamingo admitted. He sighed. "Here we are though. We're back at the desert. Together. I know fate or destiny isn't real, but this has to count for something. Believe me. I'll help you. I just–"

A shadow passed by Doflamingo, causing him to stumble back, his body hitting the soft sandy ground. He struggled to get himself up. Meanwhile he heard Crocodile and Mihawk fighting each other, yelling, the gun pointed up to heaven.

"You're sick!"

"Fuck. Off."

Doflamingo crawled over and began to fend Mihawk away from Crocodile. He could feel the heat of the flame lick the soles of his shoe. Mihawk swiped a hand at him. Crocodile grabbed at his wrist saving Doflamingo another blow. Somewhere in the mix his sunglasses fell. He heard something. A dry, loud crack echoed in the desert air. Crocodile stared at him. Somehow the both of them knew. He let the handgun fall and went at Mihawk with both hands. Doflamingo took the opportunity to jump up and take Mihawk from the back. He summoned up the last of his energy and grabbed Mihawk, yanking him and throwing him off Crocodile.

Doflamingo gasped. His arms, his legs, his very being was exhausted. He stared down at Mihawk's crumbled, coughing form. He wanted to take the time to feel so good about himself. Somehow Crocodile had read his mind, or perhaps he had read Crocodile's. It was almost like old times.

A hand grabbed his shoulder and pushed him away. Doflamingo was forced a few steps back, shocked, his naked eyes looking up at the gun that was lowering towards Mihawk.

"Crocodile?" Doflamingo asked. He felt a smile on his face. Not the right kind of smile. He was scared.

The older teen used his free hand to pull his hair back. Doflamingo could see a small bit of blood on his lip. No big deal. Friends get into fights. They got into fights. There was no reason a gun should be involved in this.

_Of course you had to do it. Think about it. What if you had just stood there and let him pull the trigger. You'd be telling him it was ok to kill when things didn't go his way. You'd give him all the control. You'd be giving him permission to control you, to kill you once you became too much to handle. And think about this; you might not have figured out the truth till much later. Mihawk's a tool, but he didn't, still doesn't, deserve to die. Not yet._

Doflamingo lunged forward, holding to and pushing in all his weight as he rammed Crocodile. He closed his eyes as he anticipated the harsh impact, the only positive he could think of was that he'd land on something soft. The two fell, but this time there was a difference in the impact.

Doflamingo groaned when he hit the ground, but it was the sound that made him alert and filled him with a new worry. It was not the sound of the gun bouncing off a large rock, though the latter certainly had something to do with it. Nor was it the sound of the gun accidentally going off, sending a loud cry throughout the desert and even causing lights to be reawakened in the distance. He lay there, stunned, thinking about his sunglasses when he felt Crocodile's legs frantically jerk and contract underneath him. He remained completely still when he reevaluated the sound he had heard.

It was a crack. It was loud. It was wet.

The boy trembled. He moved himself off of Crocodile, dreading the fact that the older boy was not stirring.

"Crocodile?"

"Doflamingo, what's…what did you do?" Of course Mihawk would somehow skip the part where he had saved his life. Not that it currently mattered.

He ignored Mihawk as he carefully crawled over to Crocodile's head. The first thing he noticed was the bladed shape of desert stone exposed, lying dangerously close to the young man's head.

"Crocodile," he called. The fire made it impossible to see. Doflamingo reached out and tried to shake him. He pulled his arms away when he noticed how unusually relaxed the body was.

"Oh…shit." He heard sand being pushed around. He remained still as he looked down at the few fingers that had made contact with the neck. The bottom of his lip began to quiver when he saw the wet shine of blood covering the fingertips.

The smell of copper; suddenly it was everywhere. His nostrils began to burn. His stomach twisted in pain.

"Goddamnit, move Doflamingo!"

He fell to his side, not reacting as he continued to stare at his hand. He heard noises. He looked up and stared at the worn looking car. He remembered he had left his bike so far away. He should have just went to Diamante's house.

He held his breath and looked over at Mihawk's hunched form. The fire flickered. For a second he saw the torn flesh, the shaking hands that did what little they could to keep a broken face together, gold desperate eyes looking down, having completely forgotten the attempted murder.

Doflamingo hiccuped when he heard the cry in Mihawk's voice. "God. C'mon there, Crocodile. Wake up."

* * *


	9. XX

**-Part 1-**

**-Then-**

Doflamingo stared down at his flickering shadow. Around him were the sounds of footsteps, metal scraping against metal as Mihawk's shaky hands tried to unlock the front door of his car. He let his fingers sink into cool hills. If he concentrated hard enough he could count each little granule. His shadow was fading. The fire was dying out.

"Doflamingo, get up!"

He looked down helplessly at his hidden hands. Sand was shifting in the directions of fingers opening and closing underneath soft piles. He pushed his arms in deeper and let his wrists get sucked in.

"I need your help!"

Doflamingo looked over his shoulder and saw Mihawk staring back at him. Underneath him was Crocodile, still quiet and still soaked in blood. Doflamingo averted his stare, making sure to avoid the face. It was a mess. His stomach turned with what little food it had inside when he thought about the face.

"Get up, we need to go to the hospital."

Doflamingo struggled to lift himself up from his sandy pit. His legs would not stop shaking. He was cold, practically shivering in misery, but felt sweat run down his neck. He held on to himself as he took small steps over to Mihawk, his eyes looking up higher as he passed Crocodile's limp, long legs.

"I'm going to put him in the back," Mihawk said. At some point Mihawk had stopped crying. He didn't sound so whiny like a frightened child. He didn't even sound a little scared. Doflamingo was impressed. He was envious. Once again, he was jealous.

"What do I do?" he asked.

"Get in the back with him. Keep his head lifted up, and try to stop the bleeding," was the dreaded answer.

"Oh," he muttered. Doflamingo did not want to share the same space as Crocodile.

"Help me carry him." Doflamingo wondered what had changed since Mihawk had the gun pointed at him. He still listened to Mihawk, following his orders and carefully hoisting up Crocodile by the underarms. Even with Mihawk carry his legs Doflamingo could barely hold up the weight. Maybe it was the arms. The arms just hung there, swaying without order as the two of them carried a half-dead body to the car. Or maybe it was the head. Crocodile's head just lay to the side of wherever gravity seemed strongest.

Doflamingo stopped once he felt the back of his legs touch the opening to the passenger door. Once his leg bumped against the fabric interior he heard a weak, wet sounding cough come from Crocodile. Both he and Mihawk looked down at the limp body. When Crocodile didn't make another sound Mihawk told Doflamingo to get in the car. From there it would be up to him to pull Crocodile in while Mihawk cleaned up the scene.

He did not want to be in a car with a dying person. He did not want to be trapped in an unfamiliar space with someone he cared about, watching them bleed out from their face, the only other opening being a dirty window to look through. But Doflamingo was in the car and Crocodile was in there with him, head resting against Doflamingo's heaving chest. Even in the darkness Doflamingo could make out the gnarled looking mess on Crocodile's face, the coagulating, lumpy collection of blood, sand and hair sticking to drier spots.

If he concentrated hard enough Doflamingo was sure he could hear small breathes entering and exiting Crocodile parted mouth. He swallowed and wondered if Crocodile could breath through the nose, or if that was also beyond repair. His eyes went back to the lips. The thin beautiful lips were now caked in blood and sand. Several minutes prior Doflamingo could remember staring up at the face, wanting to compliment it and gaze at it forever.

He pulled down the window and looked out to see where Mihawk was.

"Hey. Hey, Mihawk!"

In a second what little light there was from the fire was snuffed out. Doflamingo stared out into the dark landscape, forced only to rely on the sounds of sand moving around. He thought about it and figured Mihawk must be burying the gun. He waited a few more seconds, his arms sinking down and pulling up Crocodile's soaked shirt, perhaps unintentionally as he figured the man needed to keep his head lifted up, and maybe he thought pulling the shirt would result in the rest of the body following.

He gave up trying to see through a window that looked out in the opposite direction of where the clean up was taking place. Once Doflamingo put the rest of his self back in the car he was rewarded with the terrifying, but still somewhat inviting scenery of a bare chest. Oddly enough it wasn't the developed figure of an adult male that had Doflamingo glued to it. No, it was the breathing. Doflamingo could feel himself becoming fixated on every small movement coming from Crocodile exposed flesh, each stretching of skin, twist, twitch and shake a reminder to him that Crocodile was still alive. He could not pull himself away.

He felt the car shake. Doflamingo gazed over and saw the driver's door pull open. Mihawk entered, looking exhausting, but still retaining a strange, calm composure.

"Hold on to him," Mihawk said as he readied the engine.

This time Doflamingo held on to Crocodile. He felt his teeth chatter from the multitude of heavy vibrations as Mihawk did what he could to navigate through the unforgiving terrain. The desert was filled with rocks, hills, wondrous prickly flora; all of which would destroy any chance the two of them had to save Crocodile should any contact be made.

Doflamingo held his breath as he tried to mentally push away the growing nausea from the driving. He buried his head into Crocodile's neck, closing his eyes and wishing for his sunglasses and bicycle. He wrapped his arms tightly around Crocodile's thick frame, more out of comfort than for Crocodile's sake. He felt the warm skin against his hands and blushed. He grew disgusted with himself.

"We're almost out of the desert."

Doflamingo gave a nod even though Mihawk wasn't paying attention. He lifted his head a little, just enough for him to look down at the rest of Crocodile's exposed chest. He noticed right away that the breathing had quickened, had become more shallow.

He heard a moan. Doflamingo yanked himself away from Crocodile neck. His hands frantically began to pull down the shirt as he heard another moan, this one longer and containing a few cracks on the voice.

"Mihawk!" Doflamingo called. "Mihawk, he's waking up!"

"Fuck…calm him down."

Calm down a man whose face was torn in half? Doflamingo would have certainly made a remark regarding Mihawk's lack of intelligence, but the another cry from beneath him had him desperate for a solution. "H-how?" he asked.

Mihawk kept his eyes straight ahead. Doflamingo felt a new hatred reignite for Mihawk when he saw the older boys head lower, his shoulder coming up to a slow shrug.

"…I see the road," was all Mihawk could say for himself.

Underneath his hands Doflamingo could feel a chest exploding with quick breathes of oxygen. He heard another cough; dry. He looked down and could see the head lifting up, more groaning slowly breaking through ruined lips.

He caught the sight of eyelids fluttering. Almost immediately following this was a cry. Doflamingo grabbed on to Crocodile's jerking body, watching with wide eyes at thrashing legs while his head pressed against Crocodile's back. Even through Crocodile was reeling in pain Doflamingo somehow managed to catch the sounds of his and Crocodile's hearts rapidly beating.

"Crocodile, relax," Mihawk stated in the most timely matter. By this point the ride had gotten smoother. They were out of the desert, but not out of harms way. One of the other many things Doflamingo remembered hearing that night was the engine. They were going incredibly fast.

Crocodile didn't seem to appreciate this. The first words that came from his mouth were swears. Then screams. Then more cries. Then more swearing, but this time it was worse.

"Fuck!" Doflamingo watched arms frantically wave about in the car. It reminded him of a trapped cat trying to scratch its way out of a cage. Crocodile screamed again, this time lowering his hands closer to his face, but not quite touching it.

"Your face is cut," Doflamingo said. Crocodile groaned, shaking his head. "Don't touch it!" Doflamingo added.

"Doflamingo?" Crocodile did not sound well.

"We're going to the hospital."

Crocodile shook his head again. "No! No…where are we?"

"In the car," Doflamingo said. "We need to go to the hospital–"

"No! No, we cannot go to the hospital!" Crocodile grabbed hold of his face, hissing and fighting through the pain as he examined the damage that had been done to him. Doflamingo could see the growing white of his eyes as Crocodile realized just how much of a "cut" he had, reassessing the situation through closed whines. "I can't go! I can't…"

"Doflamingo, hold on to him!"

"Don't worry, we'll come up with a story," Doflamingo said. He figured Crocodile had to be afraid. Nobody liked going to see the doctors, especially after nearly killing their friends. "We'll just lie, like you wanted. There's nothing to worry about."

Crocodile shook his head a final time, more slowly and with far less energy than before. "No…no…" He muttered. Doflamingo felt a sudden jerk pulling his arms. He let go of Crocodile and watched the young man dry heave once, twice, then lowering his head to the side and, with a final heave, vomit all over the interior. Then he went limp again.

Mihawk looked down at the bottom of the car's fabric, a large scowl appearing on his face as the sight and smell hit him.

"At least he passed out," Doflamingo said, grabbing hold of Crocodile and trying to pull him back up in his weakened embrace.

"Great," Mihawk muttered. "He's in shock and now I got puke in my car."

Doflamingo stared out the front window and could see something red up ahead. He freaked. "Mihawk, stop!"

"What?" Mihawk turned his head back to the road and stared at the car just several feet away from them. At the speed they were going the only option to save the three from a very certain death was to hit the breaks, hard.

Doflamingo held on to the seatbelt with one hand and, perhaps out of morbid curiosity, wondered what would happen to him if either he or Crocodile did die. (Mihawk was out of the equation of thought.) But in the second it took for the hand that held on to Crocodile to temporarily let go and slip he did think about how strange it might have been. Or how sad, because even though he and Crocodile had their differences he didn't want Crocodile to die. Like any other mammal on this great big planet he felt a great sadness when he thought about his death, the lack of him existing. Like any other human he couldn't help but list out all the things he had failed to accomplish. When sex came to mind, as it would in a frightened virgin's mind, he brought himself to consider the regret he felt when he had kissed Crocodile while he slept, and running away. He wondered what might have happened if he had been slower, woke Crocodile up, and continued onward from there. By this point the brain was sure it was going to die so a rush of endorphins hit Doflamingo and from this point onward until his hand had slipped down Crocodile's body Doflamingo's mind wandered away from theoretical to just plain erotically fantastical.

But the hand slipped, and since Doflamingo was only holding on to a seatbelt, the rest of him quickly followed suite. At the very last moment Doflamingo grabbed on to the upholstery lining the car seats, just barely saving himself and Crocodile, who was now lying right underneath him, from flying out of a window.

He stared out, not at anything really, but stared, blinking widely as several shots worth of adrenaline kicked up a storm in his stomach. He understood why Crocodile had vomited.

"Is Crocodile ok?" he heard Mihawk ask.

Doflamingo scowled, having half the mind to force a finger down his throat and do the deed, were it not for overly shaky hands now tucked underneath him. Also, his arm burned with an incredible pain.

" _I'm_ fine, thanks."

"Is he still breathing or not?"

Doflamingo internally screamed out a few choice words before remembering that he was now on top of Crocodile. The arm that held on to the seatbelt would not lift him up; any attempt resulted in a stinging ache that ran up his shoulder and into his back. The other, he noticed, was in somewhere it ought not to be. Doflamingo felt a rush of heat as he moved a finger, feeling the fabric of worn out jeans, moving just a little closer to a certain desired spot. He smiled. No, wait. He was too high now. Doflamingo paused, unsure of how he could have screwed up so badly at _that_ part of the human anatomy. He crept his hand down. Yes. No. Wait, what was going on? Too low? No, impossible.

"Doflamingo!"

"Y-yeah, he's fine." Doflamingo stuttered out. He freed his arm and lifted himself up as Mihawk began driving again, this time at a more reasonable speed.

For some reason Doflamingo found that he was scooting away from Crocodile. He wasn't sure why. He knew he obviously had made some mistake. It was dark. Crocodile wore a lot of dark clothes. The pants were not loose, but they had enough space for things to move around.

But! He knew things couldn't move around that much. Not even if he went commando.

His head ached.

"Hold on to him." Mihawk ordered.

Doflamingo wiped his face and removed some of the dried mixture of blood and sand that had smeared on him. He looked at it and told himself this was the reason why his heart was now beating so hard against his chest. The shock was now starting to get to him. He wasn't thinking straight. Even his senses were off!

Doflamingo concluded this personal thought when he heard another moan being uttered from Crocodile. He looked down and saw Crocodile curling up on his side, holding on to his stomach in half-consciousness. Doflamingo could feel it. There was a distant feeling. A growing gap.

Another groan. A cry.

"We're almost at the hospital," Doflamingo said.

Crocodile lifted up his shaking head, and Doflamingo could see that the layer of blood and sand that had caked on him had been the only prevention from new blood spilling. He stared at the worn out expression, gold eyes with fading energy, falling apart as life continued to pour out from between the gap.

Crocodile parted his lips, ready to mouth the word "no."

Doflamingo spoke up first. "You're bleeding. Everywhere. There's blood everywhere."

* * *

Doflamingo sat on the white hospital bed that had been assigned to him. He rubbed his shoulder, trying to sooth the dull ache after having his arm relocated back into the socket.

The emergency room was a painfully sterile white color that nearly blinded Doflamingo. He longed for sunglasses. He held on to his arm as he surveyed his private little space, a curtain shrouding him from his unknown neighbors. He could hear nurses and doctors and beeping and steps, but could not make out Mihawk's voice amongst the other sounds. Without much else to do Doflamingo considered leaving his bed and wander around until he found the older teen. The only thing stopping him was a form of instinctual nervousness brought up something he couldn't understand. He wasn't sure what it could have been. He knew Mihawk would be the only person that might know where and how Crocodile was, but for some reason the though of him leaving his curtain fortress made him unbearable scared.

He didn't have to worry about leaving. The curtain flung open to the side and there stood Mihawk. Doflamingo grimaced at the sight of Mihawk. He wasn't sure when it happened, but there was a bruise on the young man's forehead. He looked absolutely miserable to see him.

"Do you know if your parents will be ok picking you up?" Mihawk asked.

"Assuming they haven't called the cops already, no," Doflamingo answered.

"Do you have any friends that can pick you up?"

The first came Pica, since Pica knew how to keep a secret. His parents were overly religious but had a way of sweetening things up with their kind words. But there was something that still irked him. He still wanted to know where Crocodile was, and with Mihawk standing in front of him, it made little sense for him to now ask.

"Where is he?"

"He's supposed to be in surgery right now," Mihawk replied.

"Surgery?"

"They have to clean him up," Mihawk responded in his ever-usual stoic tone. Doflamingo could hear just how not nervous Mihawk was when saying this. Things must be ok, and he was obviously overreacting to events that were most likely unreliable due to his own mental status at the time. "But he wont be able to leave until they get ahold of his mother."

"And you…?"

"Calling my mother," Mihawk responded, "to check Crocodile and I out." He looked out beyond the curtain, to see if anyone was listening before continuing, "I lied and told them we were related."

Doflamingo could feel his chapped lips curl inward into his mouth. "You know," he said, "he tried to kill you."

"He gets emotional," Mihawk replied. "We all do."

"You would have died if I didn't push him aside," Doflamingo added.

Mihawk frowned, "are you asking me to thank you?"

"I'm wondering why you're so eager to help out the guy who had a gun pointed at you."

Mihawk grabbed some of the curtain behind him, his eyes wandering the floor as he thought up something to say.

"Don't tell me he wouldn't have pulled the trigger," Doflamingo said. "I'm pretty he would. There was nothing stopping him at that point."

"And emotional response. I could have argued my way out."

"Bullshit," Doflamingo spat out. "Where the hell is his room gonna be? I need to talk to him."

Mihawk lifted his stare. "You can't see him tonight. My mom will take us home and you can see him in a few days, when he's all better."

"He almost died."

"Be reasonable, Doflamingo," Mihawk said.

Doflamingo shook his head. "He almost died. I have to see him."

"You can see him later."

"No, I can't," Doflamingo muttered. He stared up at Mihawk with defiant eyes. "I spent several months avoiding him. And the one time I do see him I almost get you killed. What if I hadn't shown up? None of this would have happened." He took a deep breath, feeling his throat shake. He fought the urge to feel sorry for himself and continued, "I can't believe this. I still want to be with him. I want him to like me so bad. All it took was me seeing him and everything just falls apart. How pathetic. Everyone back home thinks I'm amazing, but I'm in love with an asshole that couldn't care less about me."

"Crocodile cares," Mihawk said. It was a failed attempt to make Doflamingo feel better. "He talked about you while you were away…"

"Whatever…You wouldn't believe how much fun I had while I was away," Doflamingo said, his head starting to ache. "All the trouble I got into. But I saw Crocodile and I couldn't help myself. And now I think I'm growing crazy because back in the car all these strange thoughts kept getting in my head. I have to see him, just one more time. I have to tell him I'm sorry. I have to promise him he'll never see me again. Or maybe I should just tell him I'm some bisexual that's had the hots for him for years, and once he's done kicking my ass I'll maybe have learned my lesson and stay away."

Mihawk stood silent in awe. After a few seconds Doflamingo watched the older boy approach his bed. Doflamingo scooted over; staring out at the passerby's as Mihawk sat next to him, quiet. The two remained seated, neither willing to add on from the previous confession.

He felt a hand hesitantly touch his shoulder.

"Thanks for showing up," Mihawk said.

Doflamingo lowered his head.

"I mean it. Because even though I almost died tonight…I mean, I might have if I didn't already have things under control, odds were someone else would have died. And there was no way Crocodile would have gotten away with it," Mihawk said in one breath.

Doflamingo felt his eyes lower. He asked, "who?"

Mihawk sighed.

"Yeah, you're not going to tell me," Doflamingo said. "Even though I never said a word about tonight. And I never will. But for some reason I don't deserve to know why Crocodile had a gun in his hands and was talking about killing someone." He faked a laugh and jumped off the bed. "This is why I can't hang out with you or Crocodile. You're both so full of shit."

"You wouldn't understand," Mihawk said.

"And what makes you think that?" Doflamingo asked.

Mihawk frowned. "Crocodile told me himself. You can't. You won't. You're just too selfish."

* * *

Doflamingo sat outside in the waiting room. He felt sick and weary, but he supposed it was more a result of being surrounded by ailing people than feeling betrayed.

He looked over at Mihawk, who had finished calling his mother and was now busy talking to a nurse. Out of kindness (thought pity seemed more likely) Mihawk decided to have his mother also check Doflamingo out as well. He had construed a powerful lie retelling the night's adventures. Something like this would only work at a strange hospital. Doflamingo swung his legs as he waited to hear more news about Crocodile.

He concluded that it was better that he never find out Crocodile's true motives. Never understanding Crocodile meant they could never be close again, and Doflamingo needed to make sure it stayed that way. Mihawk had told him to speak his peace once Crocodile was feeling better, and while Doflamingo knew exactly what he wanted to say, there was still that thought that had bothered him. He grabbed the chairs handles. He looked around the room. What was it about that scene that made so little sense to him? Why couldn't he find _it_?

Doflamingo stood up and walked past several long lines of upset patients-to-be, walking right up to Mihawk as soon as the nurse walked off.

"Is he out of surgery or what?" Doflamingo asked.

"Yes, he is," Mihawk said.

"Can we see him?" Doflamingo asked.

Mihawk groaned. "He's not even awake."

"I want to see how he looks." He planted a frown on his face, his eyes opening just a little more to give his self a guilt stricken look.

Mihawk looked over at the double doors. "I'm pretty sure his face is bandaged," he muttered.

"Doesn't matter," Doflamingo said. He was beginning to feel anxious. What was it about that memory that was so strange? Why couldn't he feel _it_?

"Fine. Go ahead," Mihawk replied. "I have to write out everything that happened. I guess they don't believe everything I'm saying."

The last thing Doflamingo needed right now were police questioning him and Mihawk about the accident. He wasn't sure if he was willing to save either Crocodile or Mihawk right now. God, Crocodile. What was going on?

"You and Crocodile don't really look related," he remarked, a smiling growing on his face. "What room is he in?"

Mihawk paled. He looked nervous. "He's in 113A." Mihawk grabbed Doflamingo by the shoulder and pulled him close. "Look, he just got out of surgery. So if you see a nurse or a doctor in his room, leave. Don't bother them or assume that there's something wrong. Just come back."

"You sound incredibly suspicious right now," Doflamingo said.

"I'm tired. I want to go home. I don't want you freaking out because you overheard a doctor checking on his face or something…" Mihawk let go of Doflamingo. "My mom is on her way. We'll be leaving soon. Crocodile will probably get picked up tomorrow or the day after. For the love of god, don't ask a nurse if we can take him home now."

Doflamingo walked off right as Mihawk prayed for him to not go asking about Crocodile's release date. He skipped through the double doors, earning a few looks from passerby nurses. His shoulder still ached but it wasn't enough to deter him from taking as much space as he could. He walked through the long hallway, his body eating up what little painkillers he had in his system, his arms swinging furiously, and with added energy whenever a young female nurse walked by, while he looked up at numbered resting rooms.

There was something so incredibly sterile in the air; a plastic smell and taste that made Doflamingo want to gag. Hospitals were not as clean as they claimed to be, but something about this ward made him feel as though he had been doused in alcohol.

Other than the sounds of nurses and doctors moving and talking, the taunting echoes of machines recording hearts and vitals, there would be absolute silence.

Doflamingo stopped and stared at the two nurses looking into the thirteenth room. One had a look of curiosity, the other nurse looked absolutely furious. They stood there, just feet away from the room Doflamingo wanted to go into, staring with certain unease. He had to move to the far left in order to understand what was going on. There was another nurse inside the room. Why on earth were these other two nurses were watching him with such strange looks? What did the nurse do?

He waited at a safe distance, careful to not look lost or too observant in case another medical staff member decided to kick him out. When the third left the room he watched the other two nurses swarm the third, drowning him with a load of words that Doflamingo couldn't make out. When they walked off Doflamingo went ahead and walked into the room.

Doflamingo's first complaint was how cold the room was. How were people supposed to get better in such cold rooms? He held on to himself, right arm delicately rubbing against the left shoulder, as he approached the bed.

Oh, Crocodile looked terrible. What a surprise. And yet, Doflamingo was surprised. He knew exactly what he had gotten himself into, but somehow had the nerve to let his eyes go wide in terror, his lips tremble with animal fear, his legs fighting to turn around and forget what he had just seen. Beyond this was some morbid curiosity. Doflamingo saw the face covered up and wanted to know what lay underneath. He wanted to peel away the white fabric bandages and stare at what he assumed would be terrifying stitching across the young man's face. He wanted to touch it. Pull at the stiches, laugh and be grateful it was Crocodile and not he.

The third feeling was something else that made him continue to move forward. He watched Crocodile's chest slowly move upward and down, watched the barely visible eyelids twitch with dreamlike movement, body so still and exposed.

He grabbed the only chair available and dragged it close to the bed. As he sat down Doflamingo's eyes rested on the covered legs. What remained of Crocodile's clothes was folded on top of a small table. Doflamingo knew he could just tear off the thin bed cover and put himself back at ease.

"Wake up," Doflamingo ordered. He flicked a finger at the covered face, hoping the pain from contact would be enough to spark an awakening. Doflamingo growled when he saw the tubes leading to Crocodile's left wrist.

"If I pinch it tightly enough," he said to the unconscious teen, "will you wake up? Will it hurt?" He walked over to the other side, eyes still locked on long legs. He stared at the bag hanging above, filled with clear liquid. He grabbed the tube and bent it, twisted it, pinched it with his dry fingers.

"Tell me I'm crazy," he muttered. "Tell me I'm such a sicko I can't help but imagine these strange things. I need help. You need help too, but I need it more."

He stopped playing with the tube after a few minutes. He wasn't getting the reaction he wanted. This time he leaned over Crocodile, his face just above the older teens. He could see, at the very edge of the bandage covering those unknown stitches, the hint of red. He flared his nostrils, hoping to catch the scent of blood, but was disappointed when he was only further intoxicated with the plastic stench.

"I kissed you," he whispered into Crocodile's ear. "You couldn't stop me. I sorta wished you did though. Maybe I wouldn't be here right now."

Somehow Crocodile was starting to look ok. Doflamingo couldn't explain it, but the bandages didn't seem so bad.

"Or maybe," he added, "Maybe we'd work something out. Maybe you like guys too. Girls are real snobs. They think they can do whatever they want without consequence. You're too good for that. You wouldn't trouble yourself with a girl."

His eyes locked on to Crocodile's limp hand. Without a second thought he grabbed it, feeling the familiar contours of the left hand. He flipped it over and touched the thin, white line: the remains of a scar.

"I'd be ok," he muttered. _Who was I talking to?_ "I'd figure something out. I would try not to be a lousy boyfriend." He took in a loud breath of air. "I think we might have had a lot of fun. I don't think it would have lasted for too long, but I think it would have been a nice relationship…"

His right hand holding Crocodile's: the left hand he could feel traveling along cool bed sheets. His heart was racing as he rubbed Crocodile's old scar for comfort. It hardly did a thing.

"Why did you cut yourself?" he asked. "You might have not known how to hold a knife…but this is ridiculous. It's too long, so thin…I bet that must have really hurt. Why did you do that?" It was just too long. Holding a knife the wrong way for just a second would result in something far smaller.

"Why do you keep so many secrets from me?"

 _No tears, remember?_ His eyes did ache from emotional irritation.

"You were never really sick, were you?"

His right hand went further. He let go of the hand, only staring down at Crocodile as he let his hand slide up a leg, go down, and reach the critical point. He ignored the warmth, the many different opportunities and let his hand slide inward.

…oh.

It took only a few seconds for Doflamingo to completely process what was there. A strong, graphic image came to mind, but once again there was something wrong. He yanked his hand away.

"W-what?" Doflamingo held on to the freed hand. His mind raced around in circles, trying to make sense of what he had felt.

He hadn't imagined it. Oh, no, no, no! This didn't make any sense! He was suspicious for a reason though! But it still didn't make sense! This did not make any sense!

Doflamingo grabbed Crocodile by the neckline, lifting him up by just an inch or so.

"You're. A." He bit his chapped lip until he could feel blood leak from it. His head ached.

"Boy?"

He looked down the gap created by his pulling and could see Crocodile's developed chest. That was not a woman's chest. It wasn't a girl's chest.

It wasn't enough. It made no sense!

He let Crocodile go. Doflamingo paced about the room, his breathing becoming unorganized as he glanced over and over at Crocodile. He could detect movement coming from the bed. He panicked. He didn't understand what he was sharing the room with. What was _it_?

Crocodile did not look like a girl. He did not act like a girl.

Could he have made the same mistake twice?

He heard a soft groan. Doflamingo stopped moving and watched the body in the bed twist and turn in discomfort. Out of impulse he approached the bed, his eyes still frantically roaming the room in an attempt to free his mind from what had just happened. He wiped his bottom lip before touching Crocodile's shaking hand.

For some reason all Doflamingo could feel was disgust when he let Crocodile's hand latch on to his. He wanted nothing more than to pull away and free him self from it. Something enticed him not to. Something strange. Something _secretive_. It did nothing for the pain in his chest though. It was a personal agony to watch Crocodile fight to keep his eyes open, staring up at him with the look of a lost child.

It was rude to stare, but nothing could stop Doflamingo from looking right into Crocodile's eyes and testing to see whether or not those were really the eyes of a man. The hand holding on to him was no longer trembling. It was growing stronger.

"You're bleeding." It's voice was hoarse.

 _How cruel_.

"A-am I?"

Doflamingo licked his lip, tasting fresh new blood. His eyes could not move away. He could feel it, that tug that made him contemplate whether it would be safe to leave a sick Crocodile alone, wearing a jacket on a summer day, without water, in a desert. His conscious pointed to a particular scene, answering whether or not Crocodile had really been sick, or if it was something else?

The brain asked; why do we take iron pills?

Doflamingo felt himself frown at the answer.

It asked again; what happened when a child carries more than half a dozen of them, and has admitted to already taking a few?

_And now everything makes sense. Every. Little. Thing._

It was a mistake to stare. This time, however, it was on Doflamingo. He felt Crocodile pull his hand away. Doflamingo felt a horrid, cold sting run up his arm, causing him to jump back. Suddenly he could see gold eyes glaring at him, a covered face most likely holding a sneer.

 _He knew_. He knew _he_ knew.

Doflamingo looked over at the exit. His arm ached terribly so he grabbed hold of it, rubbing it frantically in hope of easing the sharp stabbing sensation.

He heard nervous laughter. Doflamingo turned and looked down at Crocodile. He had covered himself up in the bed sheet.

"Crocodile?"

"Leave." It sounded shaky. It didn't matter how terrible a _thing_ Crocodile was, Doflamingo knew he couldn't leave him now.

"I don't want to."

"Fuck off, faggot."

Doflamingo froze. "What did you call me?" he asked.

"You like to touch people when they're asleep?" More muffled, nervous, frantic laughter. Doflamingo could see the sheets tremble. "What a sicko."

He yelled. "Don't call me that!"

"Are you going to cry? Is the spoiled little prince going to cry because I hurt his feelings?" Crocodile had a way with making words sound a whole lot worse. Doflamingo could barely stand it.

"You shut the fuck up!"

Doflamingo stomped over and pulled at the sheets. Crocodile pulled back. The two of them fought, completely unaware that the many wires and tubes attached to Crocodile were setting the machines off, warning nurses outside of the room that something was off.

He managed to pull the sheets away, earning a chance to attack Crocodile. He could feel it. He wanted to make crocodile bleed. He wanted to kill him. But he felt arms and hands grab hold of him and pull him away from the bed. Doflamingo yelled, trying to shake them off. He could see Crocodile being held down by two more, staring at him with a torn expression. He watched a broken smile appear on Crocodile's face.

"Kuhahaha! See, you're crying! I knew it!" Crocodile laughed, pointing at Doflamingo's wet face.

Doflamingo went limp, letting the nurses pull him out of Crocodile's room. He could see he wasn't the only one in tears. Was Crocodile aware of how damaged he was? Was it denial?

He took a deep breath.

"Yeah, well, at least I Have A Dick!"

The last he saw before being pulled out was Crocodile grabbing hold of his self, rocking incessantly, face hidden between cruel, misleading legs. 


	10. The Next Transition

**-Part 1-**

**-Now-**

Anxiety was beginning to show it's ugly face.

Monet walked over, overlooking the group of tired men. Doflamingo barely noticed the cup of coffee was placed right in front of him. He caught a glimpse of her sly smile before walking over to Vergo and handing him a cup of his own.

"Three hours in," she murmured.

"A few more to go," Vergo responded, taking his cup too quickly and spilling some of it's contents over the floor before managing to get a sip.

"Shurororo!" All three heads turned and looked over at the only resident who wasn't tired from hours of tightly packing drugs into cheap condoms. The only member, who, in Doflamingo's opinion, ought to be near pissing himself after everything that had happened the past 24 hours.

"Something funny?" Vergo asked, tipping his cup forward and causing a small splash upon the table.

"There is no reason to be so moody," Caesar chimed. "We made more than we thought we would. And my product is the best!"

Doflamingo rested his long fingers around the warm cup, his eyes leering towards Caesar. "You realize my friends suggested I should have you killed, right?"

"Your friends are fools!" Caesar responded. "When Kaido discovers how good everything is we'll be in business."

"You're being reckless," Vergo retorted. "And I suggest you be careful, calling your new bosses fools…"

Caesar frowned. He turned over to Doflamingo. "What is he talking about?"

"My boys will be keeping things together," Doflamingo answered. "And they'll be with me on the decision making…"

Monet giggled as Caesar's expression began to pale.

"If anything goes wrong you'll be the first to know," Doflamingo threatened. He picked up his cup and took a small sip, producing a small smile in Monet's direction.

"Tasty."

"Thanks," Monet responded.

"K-kill me?" Caesar muttered to himself. He sank into Vergo's stiff furniture and went silent with the rest of the group.

Doflamingo looked down at his cup, staring at his murky expression. His eyes were not visible to him, and he could make out the misshaped smile, but deep down he could detect the growing fear, anxiousness, worry for himself and those few who mattered most to him.

"Are you alright?"

Doflamingo looked to see Monet just about to leave the dark living room. Her hand held on to the door frame, appearing to be keeping hold of her entire body. Her legs were stretched, one in the kitchen, the other still in his line of sight. She had let her glasses slip down her forehead and cover her wonderful face with lenses so thick she was almost unrecognizable.

In another universe, Doflamingo silently thought, he would have every last inch of her.

In this one he would have a few hours worth.

"I'm fine, dear," he said; giving the young girl a warm smile. It was enough to get her to smile back at him, reminding him of those few hours.

He quickly added, "Why don't _we_ get some rest?"

* * *

**-Then-**

Doflamingo stood in the middle of the clothing aisle in an overheated thrift store, his naked eyes staring out at the moving figures ahead. Diamante thought it would be a good idea to try to find Pica some normal-looking attire, while Trebol had commented on Doflamingo's lack of fancy shades, leading the four of them to the tiny hole in the wall in hopes of finding something worth sneaking out.

The blond followed, merely reacting to his friends' suggestions when something was placed in front of him. It wasn't as though Doflamingo didn't care what was happening around him. He couldn't bring himself to think beyond the events that had occurred two weeks prior. How was he supposed to think straight after that?

This was all Crocodile's fault!

"Hayyy, hey Doffy," a lisped chuckle followed. The boy looked and stared at the giant grin just slightly above his eyes, the teeth aligned with a row of newly tightened braces. Diamante picked up a pair of yellow sunglasses and offered them to Doflamingo. "What do you think?"

He looked over and stared at the passerby's, trying to spot Trebol and Pica in the sea of used clothing and materials.

"They're ok, I guess," he muttered back, still looking away.

"Oh. Well, ok then." Doflamingo could hear the disappointment in Diamante's voice. It upset him, but not as much as that night in the hospital.

"Hey, what do you think of this stuff?" Trebol asked, popping up right behind Doflamingo. The boy nearly jumped, finding Trebol's touchiness damn near impossible to work with.

"What the fuck is that supposed to be?" Diamante asked.

"They're goggles," Trebol proclaimed. He pushed the dirty little things up at Doflamingo. "And they're made out of leather! Try them on."

Doflamingo peered at the stained looking goggles and pulled in his lips to keep himself from smiling. They did look pretty cool.

"See, he likes them. I can tell."

"Whatever. The only people who wear goggles are those geeks who watch those Japanese cartoon," Diamante muttered, lisping every other word.

"Do giant robots count as Japanese?" Doflamingo asked, picking up the goggles.

Despite being in horrendous condition the goggles looked nice. For several seconds Doflamingo forgot the reason he had felt so upset, so confused and hurt, and he took the goggles and examined the worn harness that was barely keeping things together.

"I think they look cool," Doflamingo said.

"Dude, nobody looks cool wearing those," Diamante said.

"Watch me change the direction of today's current flock of sheep," Doflamingo said, quickly stuffing the goggles down his pants.

From out of nowhere Pica's lightly whispered, "Doffy, isn't that stealing?"

"Stop being so Mormon and live a little," Diamante responded.

"Seriously," Doflamingo said, grinning at their largest member. "You already had a coffee and a cigarette the other day. No point in trying to save my soul when you're already damned."

He laughed, but was suddenly reminded of how he had learned to steal. The several seconds had passed and Doflamingo was thinking about _him_ again.

It was all Crocodile's fault.

"Why the long face?" Pica asked.

Doflamingo looked up and the taller boy hovering above him and shook his head.

"Those must have been some sunglasses," he heard Pica comment.

Doflamingo frowned. "They were."

"But the goggles look nice," Diamante quickly added.

"I thought you said they were dumb?" Trebol asked, leaning against the taller boy.

Diamante shrugged, pushing Trebol off of him. "Don't be fucking retarded!" He snapped back into place and gave Doflamingo a sincere look. "Whatever, they'll probably look cool on you. If you like them, that's what counts, right? Sunglasses out, goggles in."

Doflamingo smiled. "Thanks." His mind could not leave the sunglasses. He couldn't pull away from the many memories of snatching foods and drinks and nick-knacks and all other sorts of small treasures. He kept going right back to Crocodile. Fucking Crocodile.

Doflamingo grabbed on to a shirt that was handed to him, not thinking as he let his long fingers dig into the fabric. He heard Trebol make a comment about something. People were moving forward. Doflamingo couldn't feel his own legs and the thrift store was too hot and the goggles were pressing against him in a very uncomfortable manner.

 _Where did the gun come from?_ Doflamingo asked himself a few times over in order to detract from the main problem. _How did someone like Crocodile get a gun?_ A question that was closer to what was really bothering Doflamingo, but still not the true issue at hand.

 _Why does Crocodile not_ "Ah-ah-ah-no!"

"Holy shit," Diamante said. Doflamingo felt hands grab hold of his shoulder, reeling him back into reality. "Are you ok?" the taller boy asked.

"What?" Doflamingo asked.

"Your goggles fell down your pants!" Pica somehow whispered loudly.

"Man, you look pale," Diamante continued. He felt another hand reach forward and place itself above Doflamingo's forehead. "Are you feeling alright?

"He's not warm," he heard Trebol say.

"You sick or something?" Pica asked.

Everyone was staring at him. They all looked incredibly nervous. Doflamingo wanted to back away and yell at them. He couldn't understand why they were staring at him. He was the normal one! There was no reason to stare at him. This wasn't his fault. It was all Crocodile. Him. It. Whatever the hell Crocodile was supposed to be.

Doflamingo frowned, eyes turning into sharp slits as he stared down his friends.

"It's rude to stare," he muttered.

Trebol pouted. "Eh?"

"You look sick," Diamante responded. "Sorry for giving a shit."

Doflamingo looked off to the entrance of the store. He wasn't sure why he felt so compelled at this very moment to find the bastard and kill him. Remove all trace of this horrible memory from ever existing. It wasn't like Crocodile was a part of his life anymore, and yet Doflamingo had never felt so disgusted, so angry, hurt…betrayed.

"I-I-I….I need a shovel."

"Shit, maybe he is sick," Pica said. In any other situation hearing that high-pitched voice say such a thing would have been worth celebrating over.

"Doffy," Trebol said, getting uncomfortably close to the younger boy, "why do you think you need a shovel?"

* * *

**-Now-**

Doflamingo sometimes wondered where Vergo spent his free time. He took a deep breath, inhaling the fresh scent of the pillow that was as clean as the day it was bought. It was clear that his right hand man was not spending the majority of his time in this "home."

"I should move in with you," he heard Monet mutter through the blankets.

"I'm in a committed relationship," Doflamingo responded.

"I don't care about that," the young woman said. She uncovered herself and peered over at Doflamingo with a Cheshire smile. "Caesar can be quite a handful to deal with. Can you imagine my situation?"

"Just tell him what I did to you a few minutes ago. He'll leave you alone."

Monet frowned, letting half her face become covered in blanket again. Doflamingo shrugged, letting his arms wrap around his pillow.

"If I let you stay at my place…" Doflamingo sighed into the sheets, "I think I might very well lose track of what I'm supposed to do."

"This person?" Monet asked.

"It's a long distance thing. I gotta find him and–"

"– _him_?"

Doflamingo wasn't the least bit surprised by the disappointment in her voice. He was beginning to feel sleepy. He let his arms wrap around the cool side of the pillow before smirking and relishing in his private glory.

"Don't worry. You can still donate. Just keep your mouth shut about it."

"You never took me as a fan of the male form."

"I'm a connoisseur of many things."

Monet leaned over the bed and made a quick grab for her top. Doflamingo could feel the sleep just around the corner.

"Please tell me this man was worth my hands getting stained with coke?"

Doflamingo laughed into his pillow. "You have no idea what this man accomplished! What he means to me."

At this point the young woman had left the bed and was lurking around the room, trying to figure out where Doflamingo had hidden her undergarments. He closed his eyes as he listened to Monet's movements. After everything that had just occurred he couldn't help but feel some need to attach himself to another human being. He stretched his legs and tried to imagine what impossible meant in such a chaotic world, where a person could literally become whatever they so desired.

He looked up and stared at Monet's nervous expression.

"Your panties," he muttered.

"What?"

"Right underneath my foot," he said with a smirk. Doflamingo kicked up the blanket and watched Monet quickly grab her soft undergarments from him. He was a little upset when he saw how calm she was.

"Tell me," she said as she continued to dress herself, "what are we going to be achieving again?"

"The impossible," Doflamingo replied.

"What is impossible?"

"Your dreams. My dreams," Doflamingo replied. He sank back into the bed. "I want to become a god. To you. To everyone. To him…especially _him_."

"That is quite the dream," Monet commented. She nudged him. "Why impossible? And where did you put my bra?"

"Impossible is just societies way of hoping we don't aim high," Doflamingo said, once again lifting his head up so that Monet could hear him clearly. "The world doesn't want you to know that anything is possible. How terrible would it be if people took hold of true power and did as they please?"

"There would be chaos."

Doflamingo chuckled. "Exactly." He moved his arms from underneath the pillow down to his side. From within the tangled sheets he managed to pull out a sky blue bra. Monet plucked it from his tight grip without saying a word.

"He did it," Doflamingo added. "He proved to me that nothing is really impossible. You can _become_ anything."

"So you want to be god?"

"At the very least, I want to live like one. I think I would gladly settle for him seeing me as a god though."

Containment. The ultimate goal was to contain that powerful force. Wherever Crocodile was Doflamingo knew he would find him, contain him, and finally, control him. He had to. Crocodile opened the door to the chaotic world. Crocodile owned the key. Doflamingo had to take it back.

"You sound obsessive," Monet commented.

"You'd be too if there was a chance your goal might never be accomplished," Doflamingo responded. He sighed. "Every day that goes by without proof of him existing is a sign that I might have already run out of time. I have to find him. I need to hurry."

"Do you think Kaido will speed things up?"

"If we get our name out in the market, sure," Doflamingo replied. He reached out and grabbed his sunglasses, placing them on his face. He knew rest was needed, but his heart rate would no longer allow it. All of this thinking about Crocodile made him too anxious. He sighed again and wished there was something to distract himself with.

"Rest," he heard Monet whisper. Her soothing accent made his heart skip a few beats. He knew it would only begin to ache more.

"I can't," he answered back rather loudly.

"You look tired."

Doflamingo turned and faced the younger woman. "It's impossible to sleep when you're reminded of what a fool you were."

* * *

**-Then-**

He found the gun.

Crocodile must have hoped that Doflamingo would never return. No, Doflamingo was sure the older teen had relied on that horrific scene to be the wall that would ultimately separate the two of them indefinitely.

It took two days. Two days of sweating out in the smoldering heat of the desert. His hands were red and raw, wet from blisters forming and bursting from intense, never-ending digging. Hours wasted from digging up a hole that he hoped was in the right spot. Unfortunately the desert during the day looked very different from the desert during the night. Tire tracks and ash were blown away, a result of Doflamingo being so foolish to take two weeks to realize what a fool he had been.

He was an idiot. A fucking idiot.

Doflamingo's hands shook as he held the weapon. He kept looking around the isolated scenery, making extra sure that the cactus or boulder was not a potential interloper. He placed the gun back inside the box, trying his best to think of a way to safely transport the gun without risking injury to himself.

Doflamingo picked up the handgun. He knew nothing about such weapons. He placed it back in the box and trembled with frustration. He picked the handgun up again. He was sure there was a safety trigger of some sort. He thought about how Crocodile had so carelessly held the gun in his hands without so much as a thought to those around him. He almost threw the gun back into the shoebox before accidently pushing something, releasing the chamber and spilling bullets all over the sand.

Doflamingo tossed the gun away out of he realized he had not almost killed himself he crawled over and picked up the bullets one by one, filling his pockets as he thought about the horrific scene from more than two weeks ago.

Where was Crocodile? Doflamingo sat down on the hot sand, his blistered hands burning as each grabbed on to a handful of the dry earth.

He simply could not understand. Doflamingo did not understand. It was something he had never heard of. Something he could not have ever fathomed.

He looked over to the split pistol that lay on the desert floor just a few feet away from him. The boy wondered whom Crocodile had planned to kill. He guessed that whatever Crocodile was might have had something to do with it. He thought more about it and remembered Mihawk being part of that mysterious discussion.

He frowned. He was sure Mihawk must have known this awful secret. There was no way, with the way Mihawk had acted over the few years he had known him, that Mihawk was unaware of the sick truth. He knew and acted like it was nothing!

He looked back at the gun.

 _What_ was Crocodile?

Doflamingo cupped his sore hands together as the question circled his mind. The dry winds pushed his thin body to the side. He was in pain. He kept his focus on the terrifying question that he wanted to answer.

Obviously Crocodile had to be…male. Crocodile didn't look like a girl. He didn't act like a girl. Doflamingo had seen Crocodile's chest. There was no way he could be a girl!

But what he had felt…

Doflamingo raised his hands up in the air, his face red while he tried to calm himself down and bring his breathing back to a normal pace.

But what if Crocodile was a-a-a-female? What if something like that could exist? It sounded impossible, but for some reason Doflamingo couldn't let it go! The more his mind lingered on the idea the more he felt that he was closer to the truth.

Doflamingo stood up and picked the gun and all it's remaining contents from the sandy ground, shaking off the few particles from the weapon and deciding for himself that this precious treasure would now belong to him. At least until he could get the answers he so desperately craved.

Why did he need to know the answer? There was no reason for him to return to that hell that was Crocodile. Why did Doflamingo feel the need to count the bullets in his pockets? Killing Crocodile would solve nothing. Why did his chest ache so damn much whenever he thought about that freak of nature?

The boy reached into his back pocket and pulled out the remaining change he had on him. It was enough to get him back home. It was enough for him to get to Crocodile's place. It was not enough for both.

Doflamingo knew better this time. He understood that he could turn back and spend the rest of his days with his real friends. He could go back and invite everyone over to his house. They could play games and sneak in some smokes, maybe even a few drinks if they were careful.

For some reason Doflamingo chose the worst decision to be made yet. He went ahead and placed the gun in his backpack, picked up the shovel and made his way to the bus stop that would eventually take him to see Crocodile.

It was nearing ninety degrees and he was shivering.

_And yet you did not cry._

* * *

Doflamingo stared heavily at the front door, his fingers grabbing on to his clothes as he guessed the likelihood of Crocodile being inside and waiting for him just to knock. His insides burned and twisted with nervousness. He planted the shovel on the front lawn, knowing full well he might very well hit Crocodile if he had the chance.

He reminded himself what he was going to do. First off, he was not going to shoot Crocodile right in the head. That would be mean and wrong and would probably get him sent off to jail or something. Instead he would use the gun as leverage. Crocodile had valuable information that Doflamingo wished to possess and he was sure the gun was something Crocodile did not want to fall into the wrong, corrective officer's hands.

He hesitantly pushed the doorbell.

After a few seconds of waiting the door opened.

 _Lo and behold!_ It was Crocodile.

Doflamingo felt his jaw slowly drop as he stared up at the older boy. His face was still covered in bandage, though there was far less. There was just enough for Doflamingo to recognize the young man in front of him, but so much to let him know that something permanent had occurred.

There was definitely no going back now.

"Croco-"

The door slammed in front of him with enough force for Doflamingo to feel a cool breeze of air hit him in the face.

He stared blankly at the door, somehow surprised by Crocodile reaction. Yeah, it was pretty damn rude of Crocodile to close the door on him, without even letting him finish what he was going to say! _Idiot._ Sure, he had said a few things, things that were incredibly hurtful, but did it really warrant _that_ reaction?

"Crocodile!" Doflamingo yelled at the door. "Open the door!"

But of course the door did not open. _It never did._

"Crocodile!" This time he yelled up, in off chance Crocodile might have slipped up into his room. Or it's room. Whatever Crocodile was. This was his entire fault by the way.

"Crocodile!"

The back of his throat actually tingles from that last yell.

Open the door! I know you're in there!"

Luckily most passersby's were in their car, completely unaware of what an ass Doflamingo was making himself. Even Doflamingo could feel his face burning with some embarrassment. He wanted nothing more than to pull out the gun and shoot at the door.

"Crocodile!"

He grit his teeth. He kicked at the door. He stomped at the floor. He paced about the porch as he thought about his options.

He could call Crocodile out. He could blab his mouth and tell every stranger about what he had felt between Crocodile legs.

Doflamingo glared at the door. He knew he could make Crocodile's life absolutely miserable. But that wasn't what he wanted from Crocodile. He needed the young man to open the door. To let him inside the house. To be willing.

"Crocodile!" Doflamingo yelled out, "I have _it_! You know? _It_? I have _it_ in my back pack!"

There was no response, but Doflamingo took into consideration on how vague the remark was and continued, "I found _it_ in the dessert. Mihawk didn't do a very good job hiding _it_!"

_How did he do it?_

Doflamingo huffed at the door. It wasn't fair. _How did Crocodile do this? How did he make something like that happen_?

"I'll tell everyone!" he screamed.

There was no response. He was sure Crocodile wouldn't risk jumping fence right now. Doflamingo stared intensely at the barrier in front of him.

"Crocodile!"

"Crocodile!"

"Crocodile, I'll never leave!"

* * *

**-Now-**

The phone was ringing. Doflamingo could hear it through the echoes of water hitting his skin and the tile flooring.

He imagined it was either Baby 5 or Gladius calling to confirm their arrival in the south. From this point onward it mean two separate things; Baby 5 locating and eventually returning back with Pica, and Gladius purchasing the proper materials to continue the smuggling. Hopefully things would continue smoothly for the next few days until Gladuis' departure to the east.

There was a loud knock on the door.

"Give me a minute!" Doflamingo yelled. He stood under the hot water and ran a hand through his hair, trying to hurry and get rid of any remaining shampoo.

Another loud knock, this time harder and with less patience.

Doflamingo frowned. Had things not gone according to plan? It was extremely unlikely. He wondered if Baby 5 had located Pica and decided to cal to inform him of the god news?

Then, without his approval, the door quickly opened, Vergo walking right into the steamy room with a phone in his hand.

"Sir!" Vergo exclaimed, the phone in his hand smacking the glass wall in front of Doflamingo face. "We have an issue."

"What?" Doflamingo said.

"It's Gladius."

That was not the name Doflamingo wanted to hear. He turned the shower off and slid the glass door open, grabbing the phone from Vergo and bringing it up to his wet ears.

"What the fuck is going on?" Doflamingo said into the phone. He wiped his face of any soapy residue as he listened to the very frantic sounds of heavy breathing.

"Oh-ho! Hey, Doffy, look…"

He was panicking. Gladius was panicking in the middle of an airport.

"Gladius," Doflamingo said into the phone, "I need you to calm down and tell me what the hell is going on." He listened to breathing slow down. "Remember where you are," he said, his voice lowering, and continued, "You need to appear cool and collected."

"Right." Doflamingo heard something in the background of the noise. Movement. Gladuis was moving. "Right, look, here's the thing; I got separated from the girls."

"You and the girls got separated?" Doflamingo looked over to Vergo, and down at his naked wet body, and turned red. "Then go to the help desk and ask for them!"

"That's just it…when I found them..." Gladuis paused, taking in deep breaths.

"Gladius?"

"When I found them…they weren't alone."

No. Oh no.

"They were with this woman," Gladius spoke with a tremble. "A young well dressed woman. Definitely not a local…and then she took them away."

No. No. No.

"Sir?" Vergo asked.

Doflamingo paled. He leaned against the wall as he held on to the heavy phone in his hand.

"I've been following them, but the woman…I think she might be on to me."

"Doflamingo?" Vergo called.

"I don't know if she's with border control or the police…she looks so young, but somehow she knows what's going on…Doffy? Dude, what do I–"

Doflamingo threw the phone on the wet, tiled floor. He jumped out of the shower and grabbed a towel, turned around and turned the water back on, watching the phone flicker once before hanging up on the call.

"Doflamingo?" he heard Vergo say right behind him. He turned and stared back at the older man, not concerned that fear was leaking through his movements, his expression.

Doflamingo blinked, barely aware of the warm, soapy droplets of water falling down his face.

"Vergo," he muttered.

"Sir, what do we do?"

Doflamingo bit his lower lip. What was there to do? Literally the worse thing that could happen had just happened, and it happened thousands of miles away where he could do nothing.

And Kaido was waiting.

"Ha…"

Vergo took a step forward, an arm extended and ready to grab Doflamingo at any moment.

"Fufufu…shit!"

"Doffy?"

Doflamingo grabbed ahold of himself. A hand moved up to cover the disappointment that was certainly radiating from his face. He forced a trembling grin to appear as he thought, over and over, how close he had come, how far he still had to go.

"Fufufu. Game over. I've lost. Fufufufu!"

**-End Part 1-**

* * *

**-Then-**

In over ninety-degree weather, only a fool would stand out in the middle of a shade less front lawn and scream their energy out. An irrational, unintelligent, overemotional fool.

"Crocodile!"

Doflamingo was all of these. A stupid, ignorant, spoiled little brat that never knew the pain of missing something. The poor little prince discovers that a secret was kept from him, and now suddenly there's an impossible argument.

"Crocodile!"

In the house it was a barely bearable eighty. Anyone trapped inside would feel the sweat from anxiety and newly discovered nervousness building as the stupid boy outside continued to send threats.

"Crocodile, I'll never leave!"

Crocodile rested his head against the wall. The pain medication he had taken prior was beginning to wear, and the pain was starting to break through the stitches.

He stared apprehensively at the guarded window, listening to that boy's screams.

There was reason to believe the boy.

There were reasons to keep quiet and hope that he would simply leave. Give up. Always.

And yet there was this dizziness, nausea, and pained ache that spread throughout his being. He could feel his heart practically beating against his ribcage. He could not get up from the floor that he had sank into and walk away, back into his room. The room was beginning to appear smaller. Things were at a tilt. Crocodile could not bear to keep his eyes open.

"Crocodile! Pretty please, open the door!"

The feeling that spread throughout him. It was familiar. He had felt it before.

"Crocodile, I'm sorry. I'm sorry I said those things! I was sc–––please open the door!"

_Trapped._


	11. Sunday Evening Crossing the Border

**-Part 2-**

**-Now-**

The phone rang.

Diamante grabbed his overstuffed backpack and slung it over his shoulders. Trebol hurried from room to room, trying to locate all of his dear possessions that he had scattered across the small apartment. Vergo stood by the front door, his dark shads barely covering his anxious character.

The phone rang again.

Doflamingo sat in the middle of the living room, hands cupped together as he stared down, not the least bit inspired to grab any personal belongings and leave his current life behind him.

It rang. Again. And again.

"Maybe we should pick up the phone," Vergo nervously remarked to Diamante.

The tall man twisted his fingers through his hair, looking down at Doflamingo, then over at the phone.

"Doffy?"

"I don't care," Doflamingo stated aloud. "Kaido has no reason to call yet. Odds are is another member asking about everyone's current state of panic."

Diamante sighed; walking over to the phone while Doflamingo continued to stare down at the floor.

He was so close. He had saved so much money. He had gotten so far!

Doflamingo wasn't sure what disappointed him the most. He would have to get all the money he had saved, in the safe and in the bank, and withdraw it before it was too late. He'd have to split the money between all his members depending on how much they had contributed. With what little he would have left he would use to go into hiding. If he were lucky none of Kaido's men would discover him. If he managed to sneak by he might survive the next five years.

"Sir?"

"Not now, Vergo," Doflamingo muttered disdainfully.

"Doffy, it's Pica," Diamante said.

Doflamingo raised his head up and stared directly at the phone in front of him. Hesitantly he took it in his hands and brought it to his ears, unsure of what might happen.

"Hello?" A high-pitched voice squeaked through the phone.

"Pica?" Doflamingo said. "What is it?"

"I'm with your subordinates," Pica said through the line. "We're following the girl to her headquarters."

"What?" Doflamingo asked. He stood up from the couch.

"What is it?" Diamante asked nervously.

"Your steampunk cosplayer was almost caught," Pica calmly stated. "But between the maid and I, we were able to handle the situation rather well. The girl doesn't suspect a thing at the moment."

"You…you're following her?" Doflamingo asked.

"Pica's following who?" Diamante asked.

"Shhh," Vergo said, approaching the two young men. "We need to let the two finish the conversation."

"You think this girl might be up to something bigger?" Doflamingo asked into the phone.

"We've seen girls getting rescued all the time back when I did missionary work," he heard Pica reply. "So far we've passed two hospitals, a church, and a police station. This woman isn't here to help your mules."

"Is she a native?"

"I think she's mixed," Pica responded. "From afar she does look a bit like the locals, but her nose and cheekbones have me thinking she has some Asian in her, maybe Native American. It doesn't rule out the Mexican cartel though."

Doflamingo began to pace about the room. He wasn't feeling any better about the situation, but at least he had an idea about what was going on. He was sure he could rely on Pica to further inform him on the situation, but…

"Do you think you can get the drugs?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Pica replied. "But I can assure you that the three of us will figure out what is going on over here. Until then, whatever you do, don't go outside. Keep quiet."

"Pica," Doflamingo muttered into the phone.

"Yes, Doffy?"

"You have no idea how good it is to hear your voice again," Doflamingo said.

"It's good to hear from you and Diamante as well," Pica said. "I need to go. One of us will call you as soon as we have more information."

The call ended. Doflamingo lowered the phone from his face. He wanted to feel better, but there was no promise that he would get his precious cargo before Kaido started noticing something was off.

"Doffy?" he heard Diamante say behind him. "What did Pica say?"

"Sir," Vergo said, adding on to the conversation, "what did the third executive say?"

"Executive?" Trebol's voice suddenly entered the scene. "What's going on here? Why hasn't Doffy started packing yet?"

Doflamingo loudly exhaled. He knew he could rely on Pica helping him with discovering who was behind all of this. Doflamingo raised his head up. People had relied on his leadership, and so far he was about to get everyone killed. Doflamingo knew he couldn't fail so many of his friends, workers. And he had a goal he so desperately wanted to achieve.

"Vergo?" Doflamingo called.

"Yes?" the man asked, cautiously turning to his young leader.

"Get everyone and have them go to Ceasar's," Doflamingo said. "Have them make the product. Tell them to make as much as they possibly can in the next twenty-four hours."

"Whoa there," Trebol said, "you're going to try to remake the same batch?"

"I'm not making anything," Doflamingo responded. He took in a deep breath. "I'm going down there. I'm going to find Pica, and then I'm going to kill that woman and the shitstain she works for."

"Holy shit," Diamante muttered. "You serious about this?"

"Yes," Doflamingo said. "We promised Kaido some good shit, and I'll be godamn if he doesn't get it. But until then we'll have no choice but to settle for less. We'll send him everything we have so far."

"So…"

"You, Trebol, everyone. I need you all to do this for me until I get can get down there and rendezvous with Pica," Doflamingo said. He walked over to the living room, Vergo trailing behind him.

"Doflamingo," Vergo called. "How are we going to transport all of this?"

He stopped. Doflamingo could feel his heart beating rapidly in his chest. He knew there was only one way out of this, and it pained him so much to even think about it.

"We use the money we saved up," Doflamingo said coldly. "First class. All the way."

"What?!" Trebol yelled. "But…Doffy, you told us–"

"I can't risk dreams for the safety of our lives," Doflamingo snapped. "You don't want to die do you? And by a real warlord?"

Trebol shook his head.

"Good, then you'll all do as I say," the blond said. "Stay behind and wait for Pica to call. When he does inform him of the situation and have him call me on my cellphone." Doflamingo looked to Vergo. "Vergo…I'm going to have to ask you a huge favor."

"I'll go deliver the cargo," Vergo said.

"Thank you," Doflamingo replied. He took in another deep breath. "If Kaido says anything, tell him where I am. Tell him to go after me first before anyone else."

Vergo gave a slow, regretful nod. Doflamingo stared at his three subordinates and scowled, not at them but at himself. This was a terrible situation that he would not recover from, if at all. Even if things go according to plan, at this point he would lose a good amount of the money he had saved. Finding Crocodile would almost be impossible.

Impossible. Doflamingo felt his body shiver at the word. It seemed so strange that several hours prior he had scoffed at the idea.

No, No! Doflamingo shook his head as he entered his room, grabbing whatever clean clothes he could find. No, somehow he knew he would find a way out of this! He had faced worst scenarios before, this was noting more than another obstacle for him to overcome. Life was filled with all sort of traps and trickery, life did whatever it could to smother his true being. Somehow he would find a way out.

He heard movement from outside the room. He turned and saw Diamante staring down at him, holding his car keys in his hand.

"Here," the man said, walking over and handing the keys to the blond. "I hope this helps us."

Doflamingo stared down at the keys. "Thank you," he said with a stiff voice.

"Do you think we're going to be ok?"

Doflamingo looked up at the taller man and forced a grin on his face. It had been so long since he had smiled, even longer since he had to bring himself to perform one.

"Ok?" he asked. "We'll be fan-fucking-tastic!"

* * *

**-Then-**

It was uncomfortably dry outside.

Crocodile continued to lie on the couch, staring blankly at the television, keeping his attention partially glued on to whatever moving shapes were on the screen.

Bright hot light emitted from the gaps between the curtains. Crocodile's eyes would slowly lower down and stare at its effect on the carpeting. He wondered how terrible it was outside. A cruel smile grew across his face.

"You really need to do something about Doflamingo," he heard Mihawk say. Crocodile peered up and glared at the younger teen resting in the armchair.

"Why should I worry about him?" Crocodile asked. "All he does it sit outside, call for me, and then go back to sitting and feeling sorry for himself." He pulled a cigarette from his packet and brought it to his lips. "He'll give up eventually."

"Yeah, but is waiting really the right thing to do?"

Crocodile snickered. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"It's gotta be almost a hundred out there," Mihawk stated.

"And?" Crocodile asked.

"You don't think he's dehydrated?"

"Oh, he's definitely dehydrated," Crocodile said. "He's probably burning up as well." He pulled a lighter from his pocket and brought it up to his face "Honestly Mihawk, I don't give a damn if he dies out there."

Mihawk sighed.

"Don't pretend there isn't a part of you that doesn't enjoy this," Crocodile muttered, taking in a deep breath of addicting fumes.

"This isn't about me enjoying another person's pain." Mihawk tilted his head over, giving himself a better view outside between the gaps of the curtains. "Anyways, I gotta meet up with Shanks. I'll talk to you later."

"Mhmm," Crocodile halfheartedly answered. He could feel his heart begin to beat harder.

"Do you think I should get a glass of water for him?"

"That's a stupid idea," Crocodile replied.

"He's thirsty."

"He'll just toss the glass," Crocodile said, changing the channel. "He's not going to accept anything from you."

"He's not that stupid."

"He's determined," Crocodile muttered, still staring at the vibrant screen. He took in another drag from his cigarette. "But go ahead. Have one of my cups shattered across the lawn. I'd rather him stand in the sun and avoid getting cut than just lie there anyways."

A few seconds passed. Crocodile was left alone in the house. A few minutes passed. He was almost certain that Doflamingo moved across the law, following what little shade there was.

He couldn't go a few minutes alone without the paranoia setting in. He rolled the cigarette between his teeth, trying to focus his attention elsewhere, but failing miserably each and every time the channel change, the lighting shifted, a minute passed. _Trapped. You're trapped._

* * *

**-Now-**

The car Diamante rented had no working air conditioner. This sort of sucked, but Doflamingo remained silent with his complaints as he drove further down south.

It was getting warmer, but he doubted he had left the state yet, almost perfectly sure he wasn't close to bordering another.

Traffic had been a blessing so far, leaving Doflamingo little time to think of a real plan for what he might do when he arrived South of the border. He was just one man with a gun and some confidence. Exactly how far would that bring him, especially if his enemy was the cartel?

His cellphone rang. Doflamingo dropped his speed to eighty before picking the phone up and nervously answering it.

"Hello?"

"Doffy, it's me again," he heard Pica answer.

"Great," Doflamingo replied. "Please tell me I'm due for some good news."

"It's not the cartel."

"Wonderful," Doflamingo said, looking over and eyeing his traveling bag. "With whom am I facing against then?"

"…I'm not entirely sure," Pica answered. "We've finally came to a stop about ten minutes ago. She parked in front of a house and took the girls in with her. I got a real good look at her."

"Not a local?" Doflamingo asked.

"Definitely not a local," Pica replied. "Her clothes are way too nice for her to be associated with the gangs."

"Nice clothes means someone dangerous enough to be making a lot of profit," Doflamingo said into his phone.

If it wasn't the cartel or some random gang, then who could it be?

Doflamingo thought to himself, trying to make out some evidence from what Pica had already described. "A house?" he stated into the phone.

"Very nice place," Pica said. "I parked a few blocks away, but dropped off the short tempered one by it to have a quick look around. I'll send the maid girl next if we have more time before she leaves."

"You think she'll leave?"

"She knows they have drugs. Those mules are dead for sure," Pica replied harshly. "There's no way they'll survive this. And I doubt a girl dressed in such fine clothing will allow blood to spill in her or her boss' home."

"I see," Doflamingo muttered. "So we have some time?"

"Perhaps, but not much," Pica responded.

"…do you think her boss might show?" Doflamingo asked viciously. He stared out into the road.

"Probably not for something like this."

Doflamingo continued to stare out. He wanted to fix this little problem up as quickly as possible. He needed the boss. Killing the girl would leave a small impression. He wanted to leave scars behind.

"Hopefully Caesar's stuff is as good as he says it is," Doflamingo said. "I need this to be a big deal. I need to have everyone suffer."

"Is that really a good idea, Doffy?"

Doflamingo stared out. The phone was collecting sweat.

He hung up the call and tossed his phone into the backseat of the car.

* * *

-Then-

Crocodile was beginning to suspect that Doflamingo might have been more serious than he had previously thought a few days ago. _Trapped._

He lifted his eyes from his sketchpad and looked out of his small room window. The boy sat at the edge of the street, seemingly staring out into the sky.

Doflamingo still had not acted on his threats. Crocodile had not received any calls or questions from the police. Nobody was asking him about any strange rumors. It seems almost likely that Doflamingo couldn't bring himself to actually say a damn thing.

But if this was true, then why was he still so nervous?

He lowered his gaze back down to the sketchpad.

"Hey! Crocodile!"

Crocodile's eyes went wide as he brought his pencil down a little too hard against the thick sheets of paper.

"Hey! I need to take a leak! Let me use the bathroom!"

Crocodile's jaw almost dropped. It infuriated him to think that the blond viewed this as some sort of waiting game. He heard a loud crack, followed by a sharp stinging in his right hand. The pencil was broken.

"Shit."

Doflamingo yelled out again. "Hey! Did you hear me?"

Crocodile let the broken pencil drop to the floor. This was not something he could deal with for days on end. He knew his tolerance of Doflamingo's little mind games were dwindling faster by the day. And there was little stopping him from going outside and just beating the shit out of the boy. After all, Doflamingo had said nothing about the incidents.

Crocodile bit his lip, letting some of the skin break and bleed underneath his stress. Half of his face was irritated and itching from healing scars. In a few more days he would be able to have his stitches removed. Blood ran down his lip and chin as he envisioned the dreaded doctor's visit.

He got up from his seat and walked out of his room, quickly making his way down the stairs while hearing the muddled sounds of Doflamingo calling for him.

Crocodile could break his teeth. He could knock out a few of those fancy, expensive teeth and watch Doflamingo piss his pants in pain. He stared silently at the door. Crocodile walked off the last step from the flight of stairs and made his way to the front door, his hands balling into tight, painful fists.

He opened the door and stared out, his eyes falling into squints in order to make out the figures outside.

Doflamingo didn't seem to notice the door had opened, or that he was being approached from behind. He seemed distracted by the passing cars, the noises around him, anything that might bring his mind away from his need to relieve himself. It wasn't until Crocodile let his anger get the best of him, his steps taking the form of very loud stomping on the pavement did the boy turn around and go a little wide-eyed from the surprise. He didn't look afraid, yet.

The blond opened his mouth. "Can I–"

And Crocodile swung, missing his target when Doflamingo reacted, only hitting a part of the blond's face, rather than the mouth. Crocodile stumbled, nearly tripping over Doflamingo, who was now on the floor, facing the sky.

"What the fuck!" Crocodile felt a hand grab hold of his leg. He looked down and sneered.

"Why the fuck would you hit me!" Doflamingo screamed. "What the hell did I ever do to you?"

"Let go of me," Crocodile hissed. His dry lips split, letting his wound reopen as he scowled down at the blond. He lifted his other leg. "I'll break the face of yours."

The boy's eyes turned to the free leg. "That's a shitty thing to do to a friend."

"We're not friends."

"I helped you get to a hospital," he heard Doflamingo say. "I kept your head elevated while you bleed all over yourself! I held on to you. "

"You sick a little fuck…" Crocodile set his leg down and began to shake Doflamingo's hand off the other.

"I didn't mean for that to happen," Doflamingo said. He resisted Crocodile and somehow managed to grab the leg with both hands, holding on to dear life. "I slipped. Mihawk cant drive for shit. If anyone is to blame its him."

Crocodile felt long fingers cling on to his jeans. It made him nauseous.

"Listen to me," he heard Doflamingo say beneath him. Crocodile rolled his eyes. His head snapped down.

"You need to apologize," Doflamingo said. Crocodile's jaw would have dropped were it not for his bleeding lip and absolute disgust when looking at the boy.

"I'm going to break your face," Crocodile announced.

"Say your sorry first," Doflamingo said.

"Why the fuck would I ever do that?"

"Because I already apologized," Doflamingo answered. "I told you a three days ago how sorry I was for everything I said. For my threats. Everything." Two blue eyes nervously looked up at Crocodile. "It's your turn now."

Crocodile could not believe what he was hearing. So Doflamingo chose not to tell based on some half-assed begging that he had performed a few days ago?

The risk was still there and Crocodile wasn't sure he was willing to make the move.

"What you said really messed me up."

Crocodile looked back down, his hair swaying in front of his view as he stared down at the hurt looking boy. His stomach was aching. His lip hurt and the itchiness of his healing scar was damn near intolerable.

"I get it," Doflamingo said. His voice was shaking. "I get it. I really do. I say fucked up shit all the time when I'm scared. I said stuff to you. We're beating each other up right now…well, you're beating me up right now…because you're–"

Crocodile lowered his foot down on the side of Doflamingo's face; slow enough for Doflamingo to grab hold, but hard enough for the boy to not be able to stop some of the force, pushing the boy down and causing his thin legs to kick up.

As Crocodile listened to Doflamingo's swears and sour remarks he thought and wondered about an event that had taken place several years ago. What on earth was he thinking when he decided to let that lost little boy approach and follow him out to the desert? His life had already begun a positive transition towards something greater: why did he feel the need to let that annoying child into his complicated world? Why didn't the child run away at his gruesome comments, snide remarks about getting lost, starving, or getting disemboweled by the local wildlife?

"…I think I can hear my skull cracking."

Crocodile looked down at his worn out shoes, dirty blond hair just underneath it.

"You're such a child," Crocodile muttered.

"You're psychotic," Doflamingo replied back in his shaking voice. A nervous laugh. "You're scared and crazy and you're probably gonna bust my head open at this rate."

"You think that's funny?"

"If you're not going to apologize," Doflamingo said weakly, his body appearing to shiver from the growing pain, "the least I can do is make you as uncomfortable as possible."

Crocodile frowned. His stomach still ached.

"Can I ask you a question?"

"No."

"You called me a fag," Doflamingo said, ignoring Crocodile's warning. His hand slid weakly across the grass. "You know I like guys and you called me a fag. You called me that horrible word…you must know I like you, right?"

"You're a si–"

"That means you're definitely a man, right?"

The question sent a painful shiver down Crocodile's spine. His lips curled inward as he felt his face pale, his stomach flip-flop, and his heart raced with growing anxiety.

"Were you born that way?" Cruel words echoed from below. "How are you _you_? Come on: tell me. Tell me, please. Fufufu, I mean, it's not like I'm interested in doing anything…"

Crocodile pushed all his weight on to his one leg, relaying all of it against poor Doflamingo's head. The younger boy yelped in pain, his body struggling to remain without somehow clawing out of his problematic situation. Crocodile's leg finally lifted up. He stared down at the thing body beneath him with a new sense of cruelty. He watched Doflamingo breath heavily underneath him. The body was shaking. He could see Doflamingo's eyes tearing up. Good. But the boy did not move from his spot.

Crocodile decided to wait a few seconds before giving his next warning.

"Leave."

"No…you need to apologize." Somehow the boy managed to say this without too much trembling in his voice. It could not shield the misery though. Crocodile could tell the boy was in pain. The blond hair could not cover the welts created by his shoes.

"I'm going to fucking kick you till you bleed."

Doflamingo struggled to get on all fours. Crocodile smirked.

The blond looked up at Crocodile. "You should know…" He wiped his face of some dirt. "I think you're incredibly impressive. I'm astounded. Really," the boy coughed and a few tears ran down the side of his face that had taken the blow.

Crocodile scowled. "Shut the fuck up."

"No," the boy said again. He blinked a few times, getting on his knees and holding on to the side of his head. "You might as well kick the shit out of me cause I'm not done talking yet. You still owe me a fucking apology. Oh, and some sun-"

Crocodile took the invitation and immediately swung his leg into the boy's stomach. Another sharp cry. Crocodile could feel his vision blur as he watched Doflamingo fall back down, landing roughly on the warm grass. His whole entire body was beginning to cramp. The heat made it hard to concentrate as Crocodile took a step over Doflamingo's flailing body, animal instincts demanding he watch every moment of the suffering to make up for his own.

There was whimpering. "That really hurt," he heard Doflamingo whisper.

"You should go home while you can still walk," Crocodile hissed back.

"Fu…fu…no." The boy held on to his stomach, taking in deep breaths and doing his best not to break under the pain. Crocodile brought his shaking hands up and began to nervously crack his knuckles.

"Every time...you hurt me," he heard Doflamingo say. "I'm…going to hurt you...with…scary words."

Vomit. He wanted to vomit. "Is that a threat?"

"No, a warning," Doflamingo said.

Crocodile nervously laughed. Doflamingo huffed, bringing himself back up on his arms and legs, staring up at Crocodile with reddened eyes. "I'm serious," the boy said. "You gave me warnings…only fair I do the same, right?"

A warning. Crocodile had not realized the grave mistakes he had allowed himself to perform until now. He was one to punish without remorse, yet he was hesitating with Doflamingo. He knew part of this was to permit torture, to watch the boy suffer…but this certainly was not the entire case.

He had a weakness for Doflamingo. And the boy fucking knew it!

"I didn't know…that was possible…"

Crocodile pushed his messy hair away from his face as he listened and awaited Doflamingo's next round of assault. He knew he could attack now. Doflamingo knew he could attack him at any moment now that the truth was out. _But you lingered._

"How did you do it?" he heard Doflamingo ask. "It's…impossible. But you…you somehow…you _became_ …"

Crocodile's eyes went wide. He knelt over and grabbed Doflamingo roughly by the arm; hoisting him as high he could before staring evilly at the boy's pained face.

"No!" Crocodile said, baring his teeth at Doflamingo's surprised expression. "I. Did. Not. Change!" He let his nails dig deep into tanned flesh, watching Doflamingo's eyes twitch in agony, blue pupils refusing to give up and tear away from his golden. "I never became! I _always_ was! " Crocodile could feel his throat burn as he stared into those round, blue pupils. There was something about this situation. Could he have avoided it all if he hadn't been so afraid all those years ago?

What about Doflamingo? Fourteen and he finally admitted that their behavior was a result of fear. _No…this was all predetermined._

"You're wrong," Crocodile said. "You're all wrong! You know absolutely nothing about me! You've no fucking idea!" He brought his other hand and lifted Doflamingo all the way up by the shoulder. He leered at the boy.

"Don't You Ever...Delegitimize MY Existence!"

It took several seconds for Crocodile to realize his entire body was trembling. It took several seconds for him to realize that he was losing it. Blood was running down his face. He tore something. It was a scar or lip, but Crocodile didn't really care what he had done to himself.

"I'm sorry," Doflamingo said.

Crocodile's lower eyelid twitched.

"I didn't know…I don't know what I'm supposed to describe it as," the boy said. "I don't know any of this…Crocodile, I think I'm more afraid than you are."

The words stung more than anything else that had been previously said.

He let go of Doflamingo, letting the boy fall back down to the ground. Staring out across the street he could tell that he had left a strange impression on himself. But the rage was still there, burning inside him with an uncontrollable fury. His head snapped down and without a second though he began to kick Doflamingo.

Again. Again. Again. And each time Doflamingo uttered some kind of animal like sound, fueling Crocodile for another go until his chest began to ache with something new.

He looked down at the bruised mess that was Doflamingo. The boy was quiet. He was unresponsive.

Crocodile felt sick. He was sick beyond belief and he wanted to go back inside and go to sleep and pretended that none of this had ever happened. _A fantasy._ He wanted to go back in time and stop all of this from ever occurring. Somehow. He'd stop himself from ever meeting the boy.

He swallowed. Crocodile hesitantly approached the backpack that had been left, remembering what Doflamingo had said some days prior. He turned and stared at the limp body, then back at the bag. He unzipped it and was immediately greeted with his handgun. He greedily snatched the weapon and hurried back inside the house, leaving Doflamingo left outside and unconscious.

* * *

**-Now-**

Doflamingo sat on top of the car, staring at the setting sun, wishing he had brought some blankets with him on the trip.

Everything was set up. Vergo had called to confirm that both his executives had collected all the members. Everyone was in the process of cooking, and hopefully everything would be prepared for shipping a couple of days.

Doflamingo removed his sunglasses and wiped his sweaty face, waiting and welcoming any breeze that was so kind to provide him attention.

Pica and company were keeping an eye on things farther down south. If he managed to kind a place to dine and obtain some caffeine he'd probably reach them before the product was completed.

Doflamingo zipped up his worn, pink jacket as he watched the sky grow into a darker shade of purple. Stars were forming in the sky. His heart ached with a truth that he could not deny.

He knew his options were incredibly limited. He could have all his dreams come true.

Odds were only some of those things would happen, especially when taking into consideration that one of those new dreams was to survive to see age thirty.

'He could be dead,' Doflamingo thought quietly. Realistically, the more time passed the more likely it was. The more he fooled around instead of actively pursuing his goals the less likely he was to achieve mastery over the man he missed so dearly. So many times he had screwed up…and now _this_?

The phone rang.

Doflamingo cupped his hands together, covering his face as an overwhelming feeling arose within him. The sound of the ringing echoed throughout the desert and into the long night ahead.

* * *

**-Then-**

In about one hour his mother would return home. The woman who was worth less alive than dead, and all he had was one measly bullet.

Crocodile licked his healing lip as he regrettably stashed his weapon into one of his drawers. Who knew where Doflamingo had hid the other bullets? Not that it really mattered. The plans that he had come up with weeks ago were no longer relevant to the situation.

He threw himself into his chair, his hands lingering on the desk, searching for something to grab hold on while Crocodile stared outside, into the growing darkness.

Somehow the cops had not been called, and nobody seemed to care that there was an unconscious person lying on his front lawn. It didn't surprise Crocodile too much that society left the boy to die, but every once in a while he would sit down, pretended to have an interest to draw something, only to stare outside and view the work of art he had created.

It did not sooth the pain. It made it so much worse.

For an hour he stared. For an hour the pain grew deeper and deeper, another scar running across his being. He was hungry, but too sick to eat to prepare or order anything. He picked at his stiches, waiting for Doflamingo to get up and crawl his way back home, broken and sure of himself that he would never return back to this horrible place.

Crocodile averted his gaze, looking over to almost empty water bottle that he had taken out of the fridge not too long ago. The air inside was getting cooler. He was always thirsty for something. Reaching over and grabbing the bottle, his mind continued to linger on every painful word that was thrown at him.

If he didn't care about what Doflamingo thought, then why did it hurt so much? And if the boy kept his promise to never tell a soul, then what was Crocodile afraid of?

He took a sip of water. It helped with the burning throat. The stomach calmed. The pain grew.

Crocodile's tiny room could not hold on to this forever. He stared at the remaining water, letting swish around as he made another glance outside.

How many times will the boy apologize now? How much longer till Crocodile could no longer bear it? The young man could not deny that Doflamingo not only understood, but also felt bad about not having previously comprehending the situation.

Wasn't it enough? Crocodile blinked. _And wasn't it enough for you? Wasn't it enough for someone who never told secrets…to have another person to share this with? Someone who did not only understand…but actually wanted to know more_?

The answer absolutely terrified him.

 _But!_ Somehow. He stood. In front of the door. Somehow…he opened it and peered out, staring at the curled form that only moved when an ache became too much to bear. His right hand let the top of the water body dangle between fingers as he listened to breathing that could be heard from his door. Crocodile would have been impressed by this work if were someone else…after much, _much_ thought.

He opened the door the rest of the way and walked outside, quiet and feeling humble, his face full of grimace in the form of a long, tired frown. The urge to go back inside and sleep the rest of the week off was stronger than ever, but instead Crocodile let his hair fall across his face as he knelt down and shook Doflamingo by the shoulder.

A low moan responded.

Crocodile was quick to respond back by resting the water bottle in front of Doflamingo's red face. Neither said anything, nor looked at each other as a thin, shaky arm reached out and grabbed for the water bottle, dragging it across the cut grass and bringing it to dry lips. Crocodile examined the body he had nearly torn apart; sure of himself that this would all be impressive on another person's body.

He waited until Doflamingo was done before touching him again, this time guiding the boy up and letting his sore body rest against his for support.

It would be a long, silent walk to the house. It seemed Doflamingo knew this. Crocodile pulled his sore companion into a standing position, hearing not one complain as he began to drag him across the lawn and into the house, each step worth a moan, but each time quiet…leaving Crocodile more guilt to bear. The only sign of pain was heard in the form of the water bottle, the plastic form being crushed and reformed by Doflamingo's tense fingers.

Finally, inside the cool domain Crocodile dropped Doflamingo off at his couch, letting the blond rearrange himself in whatever comfortable manner he chose while Crocodile wandered into the kitchen thinking of something to do.

He opened the fridge. The ache in his stomach began to quell. Right on time.

After some listening to the sounds of obvious pain Crocodile reached for some Coke and went rummaging through the cupboards until he found his Jack. Despite his selfishness he decided it was best to offer something strong. Maybe Doflamingo would pass out again, and he could avoid talking to the boy till tomorrow?

He made two drinks, waited, and then waited some more before finally allowing himself back into the living room, worried to see that Doflamingo was awake. The boy moved slowly in his seat, fixing his messy hair, lifting his shirt and staring at the marks Crocodile had left behind. When he was done Crocodile walked in and placed the drinks on the table, his eyes looking around, trying to find something to distract him with, resting on the water bottle, now filled with something orange.

Orange. Crocodile could feel himself grow cold with worry. Yes, that is pretty darn impressive. He had kicked Doflamingo right in the kidney. Well, thank goodness we're all born with two.

He watched Doflamingo turn his head and stare at the glass that had been offered to him. Crocodile sat himself down opposite of Doflamingo, but facing away.

"Drink," he ordered.

"Croco–"

" _Please_ , "Crocodile stressed, "don't talk."

He hurriedly grabbed his drink, as if to gesture to Doflamingo that this was necessary for healing. He took a sip. Another. He watched Doflamingo reach out for his glass, exposing bruises on his arm that Crocodile had not noticed before. He waited until Doflamingo fulfilled his command before willing himself to continue.

"We can talk later," Crocodile muttered into his cup.

Doflamingo heard this. He watched in terror as the boy's eyes went wide with surprise.

"Later," Crocodile added, forcing his voice back into a more calmer, stoic tone. "Whenever _I_ feel like it."

The boy took another sip, this time larger, resulting in a pained expression from the intense taste of alcohol. "Ok," he coughed.

"I don't want to talk now."

"Ok."

Crocodile could feel the anxiety begin to dwindle. He was getting hungry. Maybe he'd order something. Something good. He might have to share…oh well.

"Uhm…"

He turned and stared at Doflamingo.

"What?" he asked harshly.

"Thanks," Doflamingo said, pointing at his drink. Doflamingo looked back down, also seeming unsure of how to approach this strange situation. Finally, after a few seconds of silence, the boy added, "it nice…it's quiet."

Crocodile stared down at his beverage. "Yeah."

"You know…you're a real, fucking asshole."

Crocodile was pretty sure he didn't give permission to talk yet. He sighed, allowing the insult. It was better than having the actual, dreaded discussion…whenever that may be. He took another sip of his drink, sure of himself that the idea of sharing with Doflamingo again wouldn't be so bad, rather: it would hopefully be nostalgic.

"I know," he finally muttered.

This wasn't bad. This wasn't bad at all. Crocodile was feeling better. He wasn't so sick of everything. It felt nice. His eyes burned, but he felt nice for once.

"Crocodile?"

"What?" he asked, staring out, letting the ice in his drink swirl under the command of his finger.

"Apology accepted?"

Crocodile could feel his stitches began to itch again. He wondered what sort of scar it would leave behind before finally replying, "Yes. Apology accepted."

_Back in time. It would have been so much easier to tell a frightened eight year old, rather than a confused fourteen year old. And now, you'll suffer more for it_


	12. In the Garden of Isolation

**-Part 2-**

**-Then-**

Crocodile took a step out of the house, taking in the warm, moist morning air, and lit a cigarette. At some point he would have to drop Doflamingo off, hopefully sooner than later. Although he had felt eager to have Doflamingo acknowledge who he was, a sudden burst of fear would strike up whenever he thought about bringing up his history, and ultimately Crocodile decided that it would be better to push off the conversation when he felt prepared. He was certain that Doflamingo wouldn't mind too much: he would just happy they weren't killing each other.

He finished his smoke and reentered the house, passing by the couch that Doflamingo was sleeping in, doing his best not to look over.

Nearly failing, he went upstairs, back into his room to think quietly to himself. Licking the back of his teeth, detecting familiar smoky flavors, he sat down at his desk, grabbing sheets of paper and staring absentmindedly at blank pages.

New sheets. They were smooth and nice to stare at. With a messy mind he could create something absolutely disastrous. He could leave it for Doflamingo to show. He could show it off to the supposed professionals that so desperately wanted to know every waking moment of his. He could write down a detailed process of how he would kill everyone that made his life so unsatisfactory and then crumble the paper up, toss it anywhere in the house, and never expect a damn thing to come of it.

Crocodile picked up a pencil and stared at the blank sheet, almost unsure of what to make of it. What deserved to be conceptualized first? How would he go about publishing his frustrations?

He stared and then drew a circle. He knew what he wasn't, and so he drew that first. Blank eyes were added, then a smile. A button nose. He colored the eyes in black, and then chose to turn the smile into a wide grin, creating a simple looking jolly roger.

"Crocodile!"

His eyes went wide as he looked over to the door that he had left slightly ajar.

"Crocodile, I need my water bottle!" It sounded like a cross between a whining child and an animal that had just been hit by a car. Crocodile rolled the pencil between his fingers, listening to faint groans from down below, letting guilt and anger and frustration grow until he temporarily lost control.

The pencil dragged across the smile. Deep. Dark. Crocodile looked down at the messed up picture, the mistake only adding to the fact that Crocodile felt complete discomfort at the sound of Doflamingo's voice. He picked up the sheet, forcing it into a crumbled ball with his shaking hands as he made his way out of the room and back down stairs.

With a forced smile he made his way into the living room, tossing the paper ball right into Doflamingo's annoying face, and then went into the kitchen.

"Hey, what's this?" Doflamingo asked from behind. "Hey, hey can you get me a cup or something? I really don't wanna have to move up the stairs."

Crocodile felt a grin develop as he walked on by, roughly grabbing the empty water bottle that had been left on the kitchen table. He threw that at Doflamingo as well, and since Doflamingo was busy staring at the crumpled picture, it so obviously landed right on the boy, and it also so obviously sprinkled any wasted remains across the body.

Crocodile sighed, staring down at his own mess before giving up and deciding it was best just to start over back upstairs. Just as he touched the railing he heard Doflamingo speak:

"Nice picture. What is it supposed to be?"

"A representation of your annoyance," Crocodile said as he slowly walked up the flight of stairs.

"Ah…wonderful work then," Doflamingo chuckled. "So what's for breakfast?"

"Too early. Go piss and then sleep," Crocodile remarked.

"Fufufu. So, one last question."

"I'll take you home later," Crocodile muttered.

"That's not it."

Crocodile paused. He looked down at Doflamingo, whose rather serious looking expression made him sick with anxiety. He already knew what the boy wanted to know.

"Not now," Crocodile said. He did his best not to hiss the words out. There was a minor slip up.

"Ok," Doflamingo said. He grabbed his bottle, lifting the covers of his blanket to shield his bruised body. He stopped. He looked back up at Crocodile. "When do you wanna talk about it?"

Did Doflamingo know? Was he aware of how uncomfortable this was for the both of them, or just him?

Crocodile remained gracefully poised, not letting the boy's concern get to him.

"Whenever I damn well feel like it," he said, making sure to look as menacing as possible when he said it.

He wouldn't allow Doflamingo that sort of power over him. He was the one to make the decisions. He was the one with the power. It had always been that way and there was no way he'd ever let something so perfect change.

* * *

**-Now-**

"Describe the situation."

Doflamingo sat comfortably in his seat, one eye on an unkempt menu written mostly in Spanish, the other on the equally filthy window.

"She left the house twenty minutes ago," Gladius responded through the phone. "We got Baby 5 wandering around the premise, trying to find a way in right now. Pica's resting after spending the whole night observing from afar…"

"Did none of the girls leave?"

"Not one of them."

Doflamingo took a sip of his coffee. "So it's safe to say my precious cargo is still in the house?"

"None of us saw her leave with a bag," Gladius replied. "If she took some of it, it would have had to been a very small amount."

"Wonderful," Doflamingo said, retaining the urge to grin. It was also too early to celebrate. He needed to know the identity of the girl. He needed to know what had happened. What went wrong?

"So…how are things on the other side?" Gladius nervously asked.

"Oh, ho!" Doflamingo chuckled. His waitress appeared and Doflamingo placed a finger on his chosen meal, letting the woman take his order without saying another word, waiting until she had left his sight before continuing, "Your fellow companions have just finished spending the night making product that will hopefully carry half the shine of the stuff that you will rescue for me."

"Is that so?"

"It will be packed and hopefully ready for shipping by the end of the day," Doflamingo added.

"Well, if you don't mind me saying," Gladius said through the line, "that is incredibly impressive."

"You lost my girls," Doflaimingo said.

"…yes," Gladius muttered.

"Be very happy I'm a forgiving man," Doflamingo added, smirking.

"I've taken everything into account," Gladius huffed through the phone. "Baby 5 and I are incredibly lucky that executive Pica is capable of such complex thought during such a critical moment."

"Now, now," Doflamingo said, "let's not make the ass-kissing too apparent." Doflamingo smacked his lips together. "Please, tell me: what is the girl dressed in?"

"Dressed?"

"Her clothes," Doflamingo purred. "Pica and I suspect she's not a local. I was informed the three of you are in a rather nice neighborhood. What's the girl wearing?"

"She was dressed in a white coat," Gladius responded. "It looked real. Like, with real fur, not the faux stuff."

"How long was it?"

"Pretty long."

"Anything else?"

"She also wore a hat," Gladius replied.

"Be specific," Doflamingo said.

"It was one of those cowboy hats," Gladius answered.

"You think it was leather?" Doflamingo asked. His meal was placed right in front of him.

"I know her boots were," Gladius said. "I think she buys a brand I look at."

"Wonderful," Doflamingo said. He eyed his meal. He wondered about the girl. Woman. How old was she? Did she have any idea what sort of trouble she had gotten herself into? A pretty white coat that silhouetted on windy days…expensive wear that was made from the suffering of lesser creatures, dyed and painted to look pure and innocent.

"Doflamingo?"

"Yes?"

"Baby 5 is coming back," Gladius said.

"Better," Doflamingo said. He brought his other hand to the phone, cupping the device delicately. "I'll talk to the two of you in an hours time. Be sure that the two of you don't get caught…I will be there very soon."

Doflamingo hung up and placed the phone on the table.

Something about the image in his mind made him feel peculiar. He hoped for his life the girl was not from an exotic country. Her expensive taste had to come from somewhere.

The girl was not in charge: that much Doflamingo knew. The information he had on him suggested she was high in power, or at the very least close to the head: this was all a presumption.

Doflamingo stared down at his meal, feeling hungry, but a little too anxious to fully enjoy the food that had been placed in front of him.

What was he up against? It rang in his head over and over. What was he up against? What was behind that doll of a girl?

* * *

**-Then-**

Crocodile was in need of money. He would look over and over into the mirror, becoming more aware that he was trapped in a state that couldn't possibly progress any further, at least not physically, until he was in possession of money. A lot of money.

A grand amount of money. Tens of thousands of dollars would be necessary in order for him to achieve the next step in his growth. And he couldn't do it! He couldn't do it because he had but one bullet to work with and the cost and wait of black-market weaponry simply wasn't worth the hassle.

"You look pissed," A shrill voice hissed. Crocodile stared at the tall, pale Goth leaning against the wall and silently glared at him.

"Just get me the usual," Crocodile muttered stoically.

"Kishishishi. Cool," Moria said. He stared at Crocodile with his dark eyes before quickly adding, "nice scar. By the way, have you heard the news about Jinbe?"

Crocodile stared down at his wallet, deciding that Moria's news couldn't be too important, at least not as important as getting his next fix. He pulled out a twenty and handed it o the Goth. Moria snatched the bill and stuffed it into one of his many pockets, grinning wide at the young man.

"Jinbe's going to college," the man stated.

Crocodile raised a brow. Silently he looked down at the man's dark coat, wondering when he's get his weeks worth of pleasure.

Half of his mind ached with anticipation. Doflamingo had been gone for five days now, not saying a word on the matter until this morning in the form of a vague, cryptic message. He supposed the boy was trying to be polite about the situation, but after the five-day break Crocodile was feeling less than willing to talk to the blond.

"Good," Crocodile muttered. "And my bag?"

"He's getting shit from all the reservation dogs," Moria laughed. "I saw him wandering the streets last night, looking like a lost puppy."

"Welfare babies tend to be jealous of those who succeed," Crocodile replied coldly. "My bag, by the way."

I'm jealous," Moria said. "He's gonna get a full ride just for not being white, while people like you and I have to work hard just to go to school." From his coat he pulled out a dime bag filled with Crocodile's product.

"Honestly I'm surprised you have no plans to get away…."

Crocodile stared at his bag, once again paying no mind to what Moria was telling him.

"This city pisses you off so much," Moria continued, "I'd hate to think my business is what's keeping you from getting the hell out of here."

Crocodile turned his gaze back to the taller man. He took the weed from Moria's large hand, saying not a word as he quickly stuffed it into his pocket, making his way back home.

"Really!" he heard Moria called out, "Wonderful scar. Adds to your already delightful demeanor!"

_Money. Time. Patience._

Crocodile was almost positive Doflamingo would be waiting for him back at his place. As he passed through a few streets, avoiding contact from other people, a growing feeling filled his already tight chest.

He knew he would need to ask Doflamingo where those bullets went. He needed those so badly. But a conversation regarding such a topic would only result in another, and another, and Crocodile knew damn well what those other conversations would contain.

He didn't want to talk about. It didn't matter that he could talk about it; he simply didn't want to have to talk _to_ Doflamingo about it.

Logically it made little sense not to. Crocodile knew he could benefit from telling others about his unusual circumstances, and Doflamingo, understanding him better than most, would probably be more than willing to provide him the time needed in order for him to "get it all out." But it idea of actually talking about _everything_ made Crocodile ill. He had to talk about everything too: Doflamingo wouldn't settle for less, the greedy little–

"Hey! What do you think about these goggles?"

Several shades of bright colors assaulted him from nowhere. Crocodile stumbled back, grabbing on to the wall of a building, his eyes glaring heinously at the smirking blond.

"What the fuck!"

Doflamingo stood right in front of him, donning colorful street clothes instead of his usual school uniform. Between his legs was a brand new, shiny looking bike. An obnoxious, hot pink bike.

"Admit it, you think they look awesome," Doflamingo said, pointing upwards at the goggles clinging around his forehead.

"Shouldn't you be at school?"

"Shouldn't you?"

"I'm set to graduate, doesn't matter."

"I have money, which is like being set to graduate, but better cause I'm guaranteed a future," Doflamingo said.

 _Doflamingo always had money._ Crocodile sniffed. He looked again at the worn out goggles on the boy's head. They looked a little rough, and the goggles themselves had to be buffed before Doflamingo could make any use out of them, but they did look pretty cool.

"You look like an idiot," Crocodile answered.

"Such kind words," Doflamingo remarked. He reached over and grabbed his backpack, shuffling through its contents in front of the young man. They were in the middle of a populated city. Crocodile just knew the blond wasn't going to give him those bullets. He was still anticipating.

"Here you go," Doflamingo said, showing several sheets of white paper into crocodile's face. Crocodile growled, smacking the boy's hand out of his face before taking the crumbled sheets in his hands.

"What is this?" he asked, staring at a long list of numbers and strange words.

"My hospital bill," Doflamingo said.

Crocodile paled. Doflamingo laughed as he inched his way closer to the raven-haired man. "Mom wasn't too happy when she saw me lying on the bed. Ended up spending a whole day getting all the cushy treatment."

Crocodile just kept staring at the number at the very bottom.

"They wanted to know what had happened," Doflamingo purred into Crocodile's ear. "I told them it was a mugging. Didn't see the guy. You were so kind to watch over me."

"So full of shit," Crocodile muttered, lowering his hands and staring suspiciously at Doflamingo. "Why bother showing me this?"

"It's how much you owe me," Doflamingo said, grinning. "By the way, you still need to buy me those sunglasses…"

Crocodile sighed through his nose. "You're joking."

"Oh, I don't expect you to pay for all of this," the blond said, getting back on his bike and slowly beginning to pedal around the older teen. "But I do expect you to be a wonderful friend and help me out when I need it. Talk to me. Buy me lunch. Another talk. Maybe help me with my geometry."

"How important are the sunglasses if you already have goggles?"

"You got those sunglasses for me!"

"I stole them when I was a kid," Crocodile replied, shoving the hospital bill into Doflamingo's face. "They were cheap sunglasses meant to make you feel better about me not being able to play with you as often as you liked."

"…Because you were busy in therapy, right? "

Crocodile's eyes went wide. His head slowly turned over at the boy. Watching him as he rode around in small circles, annoying any other passerby with his sharp, pink turns.

Doflamingo smiled. "I'm right, aren't I? That's something they do for people like you, isn't it?"

Crocodile frowned.

"Oh, am I wrong?" Doflamingo braked and produced a small pout. "Honestly, I'm not too sure. You haven't really given me the juicy details."

"I don't feel like having this conversation."

"Should we head out to your place?"

"That's not going to change a thing," Crocodile answered stiffly.

"Huh? Why not?"

Doflamingo was really asking these questions out in public, for everyone to hear? Crocodile couldn't even begin to fathom what was wrong with this scenario. Doflamingo wasn't stupid. He knew exactly what he was doing.

"Can you just tell me one thing?"

Crocodile lowered his head. "I want my bullets," he said in a hushed voice. "Where did you put them?"

"Just this one thing. Doesn't even have to do with all that stuff you don't feel like talking about."

Crocodile could feel the muscles around his eyes begin to twitch. Something cool and metallic pressed against this cheek. His eyes went wide. The boy was holding one of them! Right in public and Doflamingo was pressing a bullet against his face.

"Who were you trying to kill?"

* * *

Crocodile took a quick inhale of his joint before making an offer to the blond. The boy stared quietly at it, not frowning, but still looking a little uncomfortable, and then finally shaking his head away from it. Crocodile said nothing. He stared at his backyard fence and took another, this time deeper, drag.

He exhaled. "Some people are worth more dead than alive."

"Yes," Doflamingo agreed.

"In fact, most people have more in their life insurance than they do in their bank accounts."

"Alright," the blond muttered.

"My mother has been rather…difficult since she realized I wasn't going to comply with her demands…I was seven at the time," Crocodile said with some hesitance. He inhaled deeply, letting the effects of the drug calm his troubled mind. "Even after she agreed to let me be there was always a constant strain. But, overall, she served a great purpose to me."

"That's pretty fucked up," he heard Doflamingo say. "I mean I get where you might be coming from…but you making your attempted matricide sound like some strange business ordeal. Like you're firing your mother or something."

"Let's not pretend you're not capable of the same thing,"

"I'm not sure I'd kill my mother," Doflamingo chuckled.

"You'd kill them both if it meant getting what you truly desire," Crocodile said.

"I think I might want some of that weed now." The boy turned over and stared at the joint. He didn't look too upset. Crocodile could tell Doflamingo had thought much worse.

He handed the joint to the boy and continued, "I knew if I could get away with it then I'd be able to continue necessary progression." He could feel his heart beat. He wasn't too upset over the conversation, but the topic still made him uneasy. This conversation had everything to do with his imperfect form. No matter how vague he was, how careful he was with his wording, Doflamingo would piece it all together. It was just too obvious.

"Good thing I stopped you," Doflamingo finally said, answering through a cloud of smoke.

"What?"

"You'd fuck up," Doflamingo answered. He took in another hit before continuing, "You'd get angry, and when you get angry you lose control. You snap. You can't control it very well. There would be evidence leading up to you, and a motive to help lock you up."

Crocodile huffed, taking the rest of the joint from the boy. "What do you know?"

"You saw how you reacted when Mihawk started to freak out," Doflamingo said. "You saw that nice little bill you created when I said a few words you didn't like."

Crocodile finished the final hit of his joint. Holding his breath he let the words sink in. They lasted forever in his mind, flowing like a circle until it all made perfect sense.

He did have a bit of a temper problem.

"I'm such an awesome guy," Doflamingo said. "I saved you from going to prison."

Crocodile tossed the remains. He covered his face with his hands, letting each and every potential screw-up blanket his cloudy mind.

"Considering everything I've experienced," Doflamingo then added, "I'd say you not going to prison is a very, very good thing. I'm not even sure where they'd even send you!"

"The conversation has ended," Crocodile muttered through his hands.

"Here's your bullet," he heard Doflamingo say. Crocodile remained still as he listened to the echoes around him; the soft, almost invisible sound of Doflamingo placing the bullet on the soft ground reached his mind and was painted a mural.

The bullet was useless. It wall all useless now. He stared into the darkness of his palms as he tried to rethink the prior plan.

"I seriously wouldn't do it if I were you," Doflamingo said. "I know you're smart and all, but you're not that smart."

Was it true? Crocodile didn't want to believe it. He was sure he was more than capable of coming up with a new plan. He knew he could find a way to get what he wanted without getting his hands too dirty, without getting caught in the act.

He knew it. He just knew it.

"What are you thinking about?" Doflamingo asked.

It felt pathetic to not know the answer. He couldn't think of an absolute way to get away with murder. At least not directly. Crocodile closed his eyes, letting his head float away from his palms. The answer was strange, but it made some sense.

"Someone else could do it," he said.

"Someone else?"

"If I can't bloody my hands," Crocodile started, slowly opening his eyes, "then perhaps I could get someone to do it for me."

"Naughty boy," Doflamingo said. "You've learned nothing."

"I'm learning everything I need to survive."

"You're not supposed to be surviving," Doflamingo said, frowning at Crocodile. "You're supposed to rule. And risking freedom, while admirable, is not something I want you doing."

Crocodile stared. Doflamingo's answers were suddenly making sense. There was a chance he could get caught because he screwed up along the line, but then there was a chance he'd get away with it. But that didn't matter do the boy. No, there was something else amiss.

"You're sick," Crocodile muttered.

"I'm sick," Doflamingo asked, pointing at himself. "What did I do to deserve that?"

"I'm not into you," Crocodile remarked.

"And?"

"And I know you're trying to get to me," Crocodile said. "You don't want me doing anything that might potentially separate us. Cause you're thinking you can have me. Somehow."

Doflamingo looked almost baffled by the remark. Without his sunglasses to hide behind Crocodile could see two pupils temporary looking around the room, almost too afraid to deal with that reality.

And then the boy laughed. "Oh, please!" He grabbed his legs and pulled them up to his chest. "You think I want to keep you on a leash or something. Fufufufu! Hilarious. I'm not _that_ into you."

Crocodile said nothing.

"Why on earth would I waste my time trying to control you? Of all people? I could do so much better!" Doflamingo rubbed his shoes together. "Seriously, Crocodile. I hope you don't think just cause I like you doesn't mean I'm going to try and maliciously work my way into your every waking, fibrous being, assaulting you constantly until you give into my every demand. Not everything you hear is true you know. I'm not like that. I'm not gonna try to fuck you. I'm not gonna do anything. Nope. Not all at."

Crocodile's jaw slowly dropped. He blinked a few times to let the words sink in. The fact that Doflamingo had just said this, red-eyed and slurry, with a big stupid grin on his face, holding on to himself like some guilty child caught in the act…made it fucking hilarious.

Suddenly he chuckled. "…You really need to build up a tolerance," he muttered.

Doflamingo chuckled back. "Why?" he asked.

"No reason," Crocodile said.

"You're a bad liar," Doflamingo said, leaning against the taller man. He let go of his legs and wrapped them around Crocodile's body. Crocodile would have pushed Doflamingo away, but decided it was better to not break the poor boy's heart in his current state. The wind blew. Sand scattered across the dry ground.

"Crocodile?"

Crocodile blinked and looked around, wondering when in the hell the two of them got inside of the house. They were in his room now. Sitting on the bed. The air was heavy and reeked of a strong, earthy scent. "What?"

A finger poked his chest. "How come your chest is flat? "

Crocodile frowned.

Doflamingo handed him a joint. Crocodile stared at it nervously, trying to remember what number this one was. How long had they been talking? What had they said to each other?

"I mean you never looked like a typical…when puberty happened…"

His stomach flipped flopped. Crocodile should have guessed Doflamingo would ask these questions, especially while high and without a filter. He figured he had to be really lucky, because he wasn't as nervous as he usually was. And he was without a mental filter as well.

He stared out. "I really only went through one puberty. Just like you." The words were let out but felt as though they were somehow still sticking to him. It grossed him out. He still was breathing too slow to freak out about it.

"How is that possible?"

He took a hit. "Medication."

"Medicine can make you only go through one puberty?"

"It can stop one and allow you to wait until you get another to start," Crocodile answered heavily. He kept blinking his eyes. He was beginning to feel his own heart beginning to beat fast again. His eyes were too dry to do anything but stare out into the shadows of his room.

"And if you stop the medication?"

Crocodile closed his eyes. He wasn't awake at the time, could almost recall the dreamlike state of being put under, having bits and pieces of him torn apart and removed, freeing him from a old misery, only with the promise of a new one. No blood. New blood. Always something. It was a blurry memory. He couldn't feel the pain, but was sure it was there. Sometimes he felt as though it was hiding around the corner, watching and cursing him for letting gloved hands dig deep inside of his being like some sort of strange science experiment. He was missing pieces. He would always be incomplete. A strange experiment.

"I fall apart," he answered.

"Huh," Doflamingo muttered back. The boy flopped the rest of his body on the bed and stared up at the ceiling. "So…what you're saying is…there's no going back for you?"

For some reason the question affected Crocodile more than he had anticipated.

He answered, "no."

"And you're absolutely fine with that?"

His eyes twitched. "Yes."

He looked down at the joint in his fingers, almost feeling grossed out by it. He was feeling strange, almost saddened by all of this. He didn't understand why he had let himself get to this state. The pain he felt inside left him craving more of the drug, the fear of what Doflamingo would ask next made him disgusted by his own habit.

"…And you're happy with all of this?"

Crocodile turned and tired at the tired looking boy. Doflamingo stared back at him with his two, half opened red eyes. The goggles were crooked.

"What?" he managed to choke out.

"You're happy?" Doflamingo slowly asked.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked couldn't understand the question.

Doflamingo blinked. His body stretched across the bed until he opened them again, this time with a more analytical gaze. A small appeared on his face.

"Yes," he said. "A stupid question. Still, doesn't really matter. I'm very impressed by all of this. This must have been very hard to accomplish. I'm amazed, Crocodile. I really am. I'm so goddamn impressed I almost wish I didn't know, because I'm jealous."

Crocodile watched as Doflamingo curled up, turning over to the side and facing the wall.

"I've done absolutely nothing!" the boy shook his head. "I commit petty theft and pretend I'm king of the world, but I've done nothing on your scale. I didn't know I could make such drastic changes. I didn't know such things were possible! You've done it all and you're so happy and content…what have I done!? Crocodile, I've done nothing!"

Crocodile raised his head up. He was content. He was all right. But he wasn't entirely sure he was happy, at least not yet. There seemed to be something missing in him. Doflamingo didn't know it, nor did he, but there was a vast hole that still needed to plugged up, fixed, modified, but with what?

Something. Something. _Something_.

"I never changed. I always was," Crocodile said.

He opened his eyes and stared into the darkness. The sounds of crickets chirping and wind blowing could be heard from his opened window.

He looked around, dazed and a little confused. Doflamingo was nowhere to be seen. It took some time for him to understand he had fallen asleep, maybe even passed out from taking in too much weed.

Crocodile rested a hand on his head as he sank into his bed. His lips curled in as he tried to grasp the sudden stabbing sensation that had grown while he rested.

After much personal debate Crocodile pulled himself back up, sitting tiredly in the center of his bed as he began to piece together the day's events, each one resulting in a private reaction until things began to get dark.

He remembered what Moria had said. He wondered how obvious his displeasure was to those who saw him most often?

Doflamingo didn't see it. Doflamingo would come to over time, just like he had when he was a child, but as it stood now Crocodile was in the clear.

_You weren't happy._

He wasn't happy. He wasn't anything. He was just…still existing!

* * *

**-Now-**

The phone rang.

Doflamingo picked it up. "Vergo?" he muttered.

"I'm at the airport," the man answered rather coolly. "I'll be departing shortly."

Doflamingo breathed heavily through his nose. "Don't forget: you're a marine now."

"I've been given decent treatment thus far," he heard Vergo reply. "I'm not going to lie: the security has changed quite a bit since last year."

"Terrorists ruin all the fun," Doflamingo nervously replied. He smiled even though he knew Vergo wouldn't be able to see it.

"I'll be contact Kaido and his men shortly," Vergo said.

"Very good," Doflamingo said.

"Diamante and Trebol–"

"They called a few minutes ago," Doflamingo said. "They're on their way." Doflamingo stood up and walked away from the park bench that he had rested at, taking a few small steps around the area, keeping a look out for Pica.

"I'll be meeting with everyone," Doflamingo said. "I'll sort things out. We'll all sort it out."

"Of course we will," Vergo said.

"We'll all have a grand time when we get back to America," Doflamingo said.

"I'm going through customs, I'll have to hang up now."

Doflamingo said nothing as he pulled the phone away from his ear, letting his arm hang heavily while staring at a setting sun.

Maybe he'd go to the beach. It has been a while since he decided to go walk down and watch the tide go in and out.

Doflamingo sniffed, rubbing his nose as dry wind blew against him. His body had become unaccustomed to the harsh weather. His clothes, though light, were too extravagant and couldn't handle the dirty surroundings without suffering.

"Doffy?"

Doflamingo turned and looked up at the giant figure in front of him.

He grinned. "I'm very glad to see you, Pica," he said. "Very, very glad."

A small smile appeared on the giant. "We better hurry. Things have changed."

"Changed?"

"Don't worry…you'll see."

Doflamingo kept a smile on his face as he followed his younger companion, feeling more and ore out of his element as he tried to think of a plan to tear apart his new enemy.

He would destroy her.

* * *

**-Then-**

Winter was around the corner.

The thought of change had entered and reentered Crocodile's mind for over a year and a half. While working had proved somewhat fruitful, it had become obvious six months down the road that he would be getting nowhere.

Change was necessary.

Perhaps it was the sounds of trains constantly reminding him that cheap travel was possible. Or maybe it was seeing those around him waste their time and money by setting off for another four years of education. It didn't really matter; Crocodile had come to accept that his time within the state of Arizona was coming to an end.

He would leave at the end of the year.

The nineteen year old had planned it all out. He'd get the money he had saved up, go to the crazy, exotic land called California, do something, _anything_ , and somehow achieve the goals that he had not yet achieved.

In order to achieve a perfect transition he would have to commit to several other transitions.

All planned out. It would take 3-5 years, depending on the job he could get, but Crocodile had a plan to have the next step all settled and paid for by then. It was a long wait. Terribly long. He reminded himself over and over again about the changes that had occurred in the last twelve. The boy of seven couldn't have possibly conceived that so many things would have gone in his favor. He would have given up. He already had…but now Crocodile had his five-year plan and things, so long as he committed and let nothing stand in his way, would fall in together accordingly.

He'd be twenty-four. Still rather young. Still so much potential. The thought made the nineteen year old very excited.

His room already had a strange aura to it. It was the middle of October and though Crocodile hadn't yet begun to move, something about the room seemed to hold an eerie emptiness to it.

There was a knock at the door.

Crocodile didn't respond as he listened to Doflamingo walk inside, making his self right at home. The blond hovered above him, his thin hair turning into a long, wispy mess. Crocodile had tried letting the young man know this look wasn't too appealing on him, but most attempts resulted in playful banter of simply not giving a shit.

"Let's go."

"Hmm?" Crocodile asked.

"I have a Nintendo 64," Doflamingo proclaimed. Crocodile hadn't yet told the boy of his plans to leave. He knew it wouldn't work out too well. He knew he would have to mention it at some point though.

"A new game. Did you really need to get yourself more toys?"

Doflamingo smiled. "You're better at video games than I am."

"Which makes the purchase a waste of money," Crocodile said.

"No, because you'll have loads of fun," Doflamingo said.

Having a friend that cared for him in a sexual manner had become tolerable. He understood that Doflamingo was too young and selfish to simply let a crush go. Crocodile didn't mind too much. Doflamingo never let the feelings get in the way. And in a year or so Doflamingo would get over it.

And Doflamingo was gay. That had to speak for something,( at least it did for Crocodile) right?

Crocodile turned over at the clock in his room, getting a quick glance at the time.

"Just grab an extra pillow," the boy said.

"Hmm."

"It's not like you have anything better to do."

The nineteen year old knew breaking the news to the boy would be difficult. Telling Doflamingo anything was always difficult. He supposed the best action to take was distracting him yet again before explaining this new revelation.

"Fine," he said. He got up from his bed and grabbed the keys to his car. While looking through his clothes for a jacket to wear he could make out subtle sounds of excitement coming from his younger friend. He kept his posture the same. He didn't anything show.

"I'm hungry," he heard Doflamingo say.

"I take it I'm buying?"

Doflamingo chuckled. "You don't have to buy a damn thing. I got it all."

Crocodile stared down at the worn green jacket he had in his possession. Something about the words made him upset. Something about all of this made him very upset. Flaunting money so irresponsibly. Was it all just a game? Doflamingo was sixteen, but it was no excuse to say such things.

_Temporary. This was all supposed to be temporary._

"Something the matter?"

Crocodile stood back up and put on his jacket. "No," he said. "Let's go."

_The boy ruined everything._

* * *


	13. Playing a Funny Game

**-Part 2-**

**-Then-**

Crocodile chewed on his straw while pretending to listen to Doflamingo's ever-usual talks about life. The philosophy of the sixteen year old was surprisingly distracting, but Crocodile had a lot on his mind, and while he wasn't opposed to actually listening to Doflamingo's disturbing ideals, tonight all he could think about was getting over yet another obstacle that was sure to come between them.

There were times Crocodile wondered why he couldn't simply stop talking to Doflamingo. He really had nothing against the boy, but their friendship almost always resulted in some sort of fighting. It didn't matter how well things were going beforehand, Crocodile knew certain choices he made would upset Doflamingo, and he knew it would end with them going at each other. It was annoying.

"Are you listening to me?"

Crocodile kept his eyes on the road as he answered flatly, "yes."

He heard Doflamingo move around in the passenger seat. "You're lying," the boy said.

It was getting late. Crocodile knew he had nothing better to do with himself. He had nothing to gain from this argument. He also knew he had nothing to lose. This was further proof that his life had stagnated and a new change of scenery was needed.

"What do you think you'll accomplish from lying? And to me?"

Crocodile sucked some of his shake through his chewed up straw.

"I get off disappointment," he muttered. He went back to playing with his food as he drove his way up into Doflamingo's wonderfully bourgeois neighborhood. The first street held houses that, while extravagant to look at, all appeared the same from the roof work all the way down to the decorated rose bushes. It almost ruined his appetite.

"I'm not disappointed," he heard Doflamingo defensively reply. Crocodile snickered, staring out into the dark street while letting the straw scratch against his gums.

"I'm a genius," Doflamingo continued. His hands smacked against the armrest of the car. "You really should pay better attention. I know I have _it_. I have _it_."

"Have what?"

"If you'd been paying attention you'd know," Doflamingo muttered. "But I'll be kind. I think I have a way of watching the entire world crumble beneath my feet."

"Is that so?" Crocodile made no effort to feign interest.

"You think I'm being idealistic again," Doflamingo said. "But I know I can do it. I'm sick of these fools content in their little world. I'm sick of watching everyone just being ok with everything! I want to see people struggle for survival, Crocodile. Crocodile, are you listening to me?"

He had finished his shake, so of course there was little else for Crocodile to do but listen. But despite this Crocodile couldn't help but want to watch the boy squirm more.

"Does it matter?" he asked.

"Yes," Doflamingo said. "More than anyone else."

"Oh," Crocodile said. "I'm flattered." He made extra sure to sound as uninterested as ever.

"Diamante and the others liked the idea," Doflamingo snapped.

The conversation was becoming annoying. "Then why don't you go and unleash your master plan with them?" Crocodile asked.

"Because you're smarter," Doflamingo said. "Also you're better at planning and stuff than I am." He could hear Doflamingo moving about in his seat. He could practically taste the discomfort radiating from the boy.

Doflamingo was terribly obvious. The nineteen year old could see that the boy only looked for his approval for one reason. It bothered Crocodile to no end to see how desperate Doflamingo was for attention.

What could he possibly say to the boy? In some ways he was actually flattered. Doflamingo liked boys, and if Doflamingo found him even remotely attractive that meant something. Not that Crocodile was in need of confidence in his own existence. He knew he who he was. And he also knew Doflamingo was a very confused boy. A boy who could easily find himself another confused boy to find the right kind of answers with. He needed to find some guy at his school, get laid, and get over him.

"I won't always be here planning these games," Crocodile suddenly said.

He heard the boy chuckle, "you'll always be somewhere."

Crocodile could feel a rush of nervousness run through his veins. Something about it felt ominous about the way the boy had worded that sentence. Something about Doflamingo's enthusiastic tone.

"Don't be weird," Crocodile warned.

He could feel Doflamingo grinning at him. Crocodile quickly parked the car and made his way out, not really caring that he couldn't get inside of Doflamingo's home without Doflamingo. He sighed, watching his breath form a light cloud for a brief second before fading into the cool air.

Doflamingo quickly caught up with him. "What game should we play?" he heard the boy ask.

Crocodile stuffed his hands into his worn jacket, still somehow not entirely listening to what the boy was saying to him. "Whatever you want," he replied.

"I want to spoil you," he heard Doflamingo coo.

Crocodile rolled his eyes. He felt a sharp tingle run across his face. His scar did not do well in the cold, and after two years Crocodile had accepted that there was no getting used to it. He rubbed at his face.

Doflamingo pushed his way in front of Crocodile, staring at him with a look of pure excitement. "You want to play _Zelda_?" he asked.

Crocodile frowned. "You mean _The Legend of Zelda_?"

Doflamingo chuckled and suddenly Crocodile realized what the boy had just done to him. He felt his face burn with sudden embarrassment.

"What was the main character's name again?" Doflamingo feigned. "You couldn't stand it when I called it Zelda. And I ruined the adventure by not playing exactly by the game's rules."

"Ugh, you just don't know how to play games that involve any form of thinking…" Crocodile uttered in annoyance.

Doflamingo smirked. "I have the brand new game. I know you want to play it," he said. "You wouldn't believe how awesome the graphics are."

A game that Doflamingo couldn't master in the Gameboy form, and now suddenly he had the game of the year in his hands? Crocodile wanted to protest, simply because there was no way something _wasn't_ up. But a large, selfish, childish part of him wanted to see it and play it and beat the hell out of it.

"Let's go inside."

* * *

**-Now-**

Doflamingo walked over to his two nervous subordinates, watching how both Baby 5 and Gladius avoided making direct eye contact with him.

"What a lovely scene," Doflamingo said, clapping his hands together. He looked over to car, spotting Pica pull out bags of clothing, then back to Baby 5 and Gladius.

"How have they been?" he asked aloud.

"Incredibly helpful," he heard a high-pitched reply. Both subordinates slowly turned their heads face forwards towards the blond.

"I'm very glad to hear that," Doflamingo said. He looked around the area. It was a rather nice neighborhood. It was a nice, white, first class neighborhood, and compared to everything he had seen from this country so far, it was becoming more obvious that this wasn't the cartel or some selfish locals.

"She brought a man over," Gladius said. He folded his arms together, once again looking off to the side. "Black. Big guy."

"They've been inside for awhile now," Baby 5 muttered.

"Pica has come up with a distraction." Doflamingo said. "I'm going in to see where the women are, if they're alive at all."

"I hope so," Baby 5 sadly murmured. "I'd hate to think I got all those girls in big trouble."

"That's your worry, eh?" Gladius said.

"Enough," Doflamingo said. "Gladius, I need you to dress up and help Pica with the distraction." He turned to Baby 5 and smiled. "And you, _dear_ , will help me look around the house."

The girl gasped. "R-really?" She blushed. "I don't know if I'm ready to become a spy yet."

"I really need you to do this," Doflamingo said. "And both of you can't really afford to fuck up either. The executives are on their way, but until then it's just the four of us."

A car drove by. Doflamingo noticed how the car began to slow as it passed the four of them.

"We stand out too much," Doflamingo muttered.

"Hence the clothes," Pica said. He lifted the bag and offered it over to Gladius. "White button top. Black slacks. And your very own bible."

"…What am I dressing up as?" the man asked, opened up the bag and staring worryingly though his goggles.

"A missionary," Doflamingo answered with a grin.

"You'll be invisible," Pica added.

"How will this distract anyone?" Gladius asked.

"By never shutting up!" Baby 5 said.

"Something like that," Doflamingo said. "You and Pica will need to stall them long enough for Baby 5 and I to sneak around and inside of the house."

"The outfits also help for spying overall," the taller man said. "Nobody is suspicious when they see two Mormons walking around a neighborhood. You and the maid currently stick out. We can't have people wondering why a steampunk cosplayer and maid are wandering around such a nice neighborhood."

"Oh, geez," Gladius groaned.

"Just keep your mouth shut an let Pica do the talking," Doflamingo said. He then turned to Baby 5. "And you…please tell me the house has a backdoor? A window?"

She smiled. "It actually has both of those!"

"Wonderful," Doflamingo said. He looked up to Pica. "I have a gun."

"That's more than what I have," Pica said.

"Do you think we'll need to stock up?"

He shrugged. "I doubt they'll suspect a surprise attack from Mormons," Pica answered. "The hardest part will be keeping them at the door."

"And getting both at the door," Gladius said.

"Which is why I'll have the gun," Doflamingo said. "Hopefully the girl will answer. The two of you should have no problem knocking her out. I can easily take out the muscles with the gun."

"This seems incredibly simple," Baby 5 said.

"Too simple," Gladius said. "I always thought these sorts of things take time."

"Trust me, it will," Doflamingo said. He walked over to the corner of the street and looked down, spotting the target house. "But planning things out…surprisingly easily. You'd be shocked at how easy it was for me to take when I was younger."

"When do we initiate?" he heard Gladius ask.

"Diamanate and Trebol won't be here for another several hours," Pica warned. "If we get into trouble now it could be awhile before they find us."

Doflamingo stared at the house. It had a rather high fence leading to the backyard. High fences everywhere. Escaping anywhere other than the front door would prove difficult. He stared at the windows. There were a few, but none of them too big, and he doubted he could sneak several girls out without someone noticing.

"How long have those girls been in there?" he asked aloud.

"Awhile," Gladius answered.

"I have little reason to believe the woman is keeping them alive," Pica muttered.

"What?" Baby 5 whined. "Why not?"

"Drugs are worth money," Doflamingo answered cruelly. "Strippers aren't."

"Ooh…"

Doflamingo looked over to Pica. "Sundown."

"You sure?" Pica asked. "That's a few hours away."

"The man she brought in is probably going to collect the drugs," Doflamingo said. "If we're lucky, he'll help with cleanup…but other than that…"

"We can't risk losing your product," Pica said. "Yes, I understand."

"C-can't the girls be alive?" Baby 5 asked.

"If they are, then I'm selling them" Doflamingo said, shrugging at the poor girl. "That was the original plan."

"They'll be free when Kaido comes around," Pica grumbled. "Assuming things go exactly as planned."

Baby 5 frowned, lowering her head and crossing her arms like an upset child. "Fine. Ok."

"By the way, when this is over," Doflamingo said, grinning over at Baby 5, "you think you have any other friends…"

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves," Pica said. "We only have a few hours, possibly less if they leave the house at any point before sundown."

Gladius stared down at his bag and sighed. "I guess I'll dress up then…"

Doflamingo went back to staring at the house. It was a big, pretty house. It had many windows. Even with the drawn curtains, Doflamingo was sure there was no way for anyone to pass by and not notice something was up. Surely someone would notice the movement, or the sounds. There had to be another floor. There had to be a basement.

A basement made him nervous. If he and Baby 5 ended up trapped in a basement it was over. No way out.

* * *

**-Then-**

Crocodile watched as hand sway in front of him, trying to block his view from the television screen.

"Fuck," he groaned. He clutched tightly on to the controller. "What?"

"Hey," he heard Doflamingo slur, "I think we're lost." He looked down at the table in front of them and picked up his drink. "You're lost."

"You wont tell me what you already did," Crocodile said.

Doflamingo sighed. "I told you exactly what I did…"

"No, you gave me very vague explanations of what you think you did, and not in the right order," Crocodile hissed. "I can't figure this dungeon out."

"It's impossible," Doflamingo said after another sip.

Crocodile looked at the boots on the inventory list. "Do you have all the necessary quest items?"

"I better have," he muttered. Doflamingo pointed at Crocodile's drink. "Are you sure it's not your fault?"

"I'm not like you," Crocodile said. "I can hold my liquor. And one drink isn't going to fuck up the game."

Doflamingo stared at the screen. "Well, we got the Longshot."

"Yes."

"We should just play out of order," Doflamingo suggested, falling back into his seat.

"You can't play the game out of order," Crocodile said.

"We can come back later," Doflamingo moaned. "There are other dungeons. What's the game gonna do? We should just exploit it."

"That's not how the game works," Crocodile muttered to himself. He stared hopelessly at the screen.

"Adventure games means doing whatever you want."

"We still need to beat the dungeon though."

Doflamingo picked up his cup and sighed. "You're supposed to be good at this."

"I got us more than halfway through." Crocodile huffed. "I beat Shadow Link."

"After the third time! We're clearly not ready for this dungeon," Doflamingo said. He waved an arm. "We…should go somewhere else!"

Crocodile made a face. In the few hours he had been playing the video game Crocodile had actually found himself enjoying his time with Doflamingo. He considered this moment a break from the fantasy he had been pulled into.

How could you play a game out of order? That wasn't how it worked.

"Fufufufufu…"

"What's so funny?" Crocodile asked.

Doflamingo shrugged. "I just realized how much fun I'm having right now."

"Watching me play?"

"Us arguing over something so stupid," Doflamingo said. "It's nice to have that again."

Crocodile stared at the screen. From the corner of his eye he saw Doflamingo refill his drink. Then his own.

"I remember when we had a fight over some board game," Doflamingo continued. "You wanted to play one game…some kind of territory game. I didn't. I was way too young to handle those rules."

"We played _Clue_ in the end," Crocodile said. He paused the game and stare blankly at the inventory. "And you won."

"Or that time we argued over what movie we'd sneak in to see," Doflamingo said.

"Mihawk and I wanted to see a horror movie," Crocodile said. "You were being a child."

Doflamingo reached out and began to nurse his drink. "Harsh," he said. "Real harsh." He scratched his head. "If I recall, I went with you two to see the movie, didn't I?"

"We were going to see it with or without you," Crocodile replied. His thumb rubbed against the controller. He reached for his cup and took a quick, small sip.

"I saw it _with you_ because I cared enough to see it _with you_ ," Doflamingo said. "Even though I couldn't stand one minute of the film. Even though I was way too young to see what you had no problem showing me."

"The three year difference made things hard," Crocodile muttered, avoiding any of the responsibility.

"The gap is about to close," Doflamingo said. "After eighteen nobody really gives a fuck."

Crocodile stared at the screen. "No," he said. "It really won't matter soon."

"Yep," Doflamingo said.

"Doflamingo?"

"Yeah?"

Crocodile rubbed his scar. "You know this isn't something that can last forever, right?"

Doflamingo took another sip. "Well. I suppose we're going to grow up and stop this. And I'll change. And you'll _definitely_ make some changes, and–"

"I'm leaving," Crocodile said.

"…What?"

"This winter," Crocodile said. "I'm getting out of this state."

"…"

"I have to leave," Crocodile said. He continued to stare out at the screen. For some reason he couldn't turn away. There was something, something worrying about this. "I need to leave. I can't possibly continue to transition if I stay here."

"…Transition?" he heard Doflamingo move in his seat. "Yes. Transition." He lowered his cup. "That's very important, _to you_."

Crocodile was hesitant to add more information. He didn't want Doflamingo to know exactly where he was planning to go. He didn't want Doflamingo to know how long he planned for all this to work out. He didn't want Doflamingo to know anything. He felt like this was more than enough.

"So you'll be leaving soon?"

"Yes."

"That's…wonderful," Doflamingo said.

Crocodile almost didn't believe what he had heard. He turned and saw Doflamingo on all fours, crawling over right next to him, his red, drunk face filled with delight.

"I'm so happy for you. I'm glad you're going to escape this place…you always wanted to leave this place," Doflamingo said. He practically sang the words out. He readjusted himself so that he was sitting again, his body leaning against Crocodile's.

"You don't belong here," Doflamingo sang.

Crocodile found himself nodding his head. "I don't," he echoed. He was surprised how well the boy was taking this, and drunk too.

"You're going to California?" Doflamingo asked."I remember. You wanted... to see the ocean."

Crocodile went stiff. How was it that Doflamingo would remember such a thing? That was years ago. Crocodile didn't even remember himself having said it, and yet it made so much sense. Doflamingo actually remembered it all, and he was bringing it back up. How would he use this old conversation from years ago against him?

"Crocodile?"

He was worried again. What on earth was this going to lead up to? How would Doflamingo try to manipulate this scenario?

"You promised you'd take me with you," Doflamingo slurred. Crocodile felt the boy grab hold of him. "Will you…will you take me there one day? "

 _It was a surprisingly simple request_.

Crocodile looked down at the controller. He had to admit this was not something he had foreseen.

"Crocodile?"

"You want me to take you to see the beaches?" he asked. It was unbelievable.

Doflamingo lifted a finger, spinning it closer to Crocodile, until it pressed hard against the young man's nose. "The ocean," he corrected. "You said you'd see the ocean."

Crocodile grabbed Doflamingo's hand and gently placed it on the boy's lap. "You really remember all of that?" he asked.

Doflamingo grinned. "You were eight. I was five."

"Jesus," Crocodile muttered.

He gently gave the boy a push. Doflamingo flopped back into his half of the couch, giving no fight.

He thought about it. He could say no and who knows what would happen to the rest of the night. Crocodile could easily say yes, leave, and never return. He could say yes, leave, come back some time later, and give Doflamingo what he wanted. It was obvious that saying yes would result in the least amount of trouble for him. It didn't matter what happened once he left, because as long as Doflamingo had his yes he could leave without a worry. Whatever would happen down the road, it wouldn't really be his problem. _So we lie._

"That…would be really expensive," he said. He was careful with his wording. He didn't want Doflamingo to suspect that something may be up.

"Dude, it's just a drive," Doflamingo whined.

Crocodile feigned a groan. "Do you plan on paying for some of this?"

Doflamingo kicked his legs up. He spilled some of the contents of his drink all over the table. Crocodile grabbed his, barely saving it from the boy's leg. Crocodile stared at the boy's long legs as they spread across the table. Even though Doflamingo was drunk Crocodile couldn't help but wonder how the boy normally treated his family's furniture.

"You know I'd pay for the entire thing!"

"Really?" Crocodile said. He took a sip, pretending to be aloof. "I guess I'd have to think about it."

"That better mean yes," Doflamingo said. The boy's goggles began to slip down his face Doflamingo himself began to sink into the furniture.

"Crocodile?" the boy suddenly said.

"Yes?"

"…I really mean it," Doflamingo said. He grinned. "I'm so happy right now."

Crocodile couldn't help but smile back. "I'm glad," he said. "I'm kinda…excited about it."

"You should be," Doflamingo said. Crocodile watched as the boy pulled his legs back into the furniture. He put his cup back. He watched as Doflamingo's shoes began to rub against the seat. "I mean...California's like its own country or something." The boy rubbed his eyes. "It's going... to be a whole n-new experience. You're going to be get…a w-whole…lot of thing…done there."

"You're really drunk right now," Crocodile remarked.

"I'm... very drunk right now," Doflamingo said with a chuckle. "I'm honestly n-not sure how I'm sitting upright right now."

"Do you feel nauseous?"

"A little," Doflamingo said. "You?"

Crocodile stared at his cup, which was only at its halfway point. Not that he needed to measure it's contents. Crocodile knew he wasn't nearly as bad as Doflamingo. He probably couldn't drive across the city without getting into trouble, but he wasn't all touchy-feely yet, and he definitely wasn't stuttering through his sentences.

"W-we should do a sleep...over," Doflamingo said.

"I'm too old for that nonsense," Crocodile immediately replied.

"If you drive out you'll die," the blond warned. "You'll crash your car and y-your insides will smear across the asphalt."

Crocodile winced at the graphic description.

"I-I don't think it's a big deal," Doflamingo said. "But, out of all the people who I'd want to die... and leave me th-things…you're not one of them." The boy rested himself against Crocodile's shoulder. The goggles slipped down to his neck. "Y-you see, Croco, you don't have too many cool things…to leave behind." The boy began to laugh.

"Wonderful," Crocodile remarked. He stood up from the couch, letting Doflamingo slip and land face-flat on the furniture. He walked over to the screen and game console, turning each off while listening to Doflamingo grumble to himself.

"I'm totally kidding, of course!"

"Sure you are," Crocodile said, turning around and looking at the tired boy lying across the furniture. He groaned at the sight. He took his cup and downed the rest of his drink.

Doflamingo peered up at him and smiled. "We'll play... your stupid, boring board games."

"I doubt you'll be awake in twenty minutes," Crocodile said, shaking his head.

"I doubt you'll be awake!" Doflamingo retorted, pointing a finger upwards to Crocodile.

"I suppose I can't blame you for your terrible remarks," Crocodile said, grabbing Doflamingo and carefully hoisting him up to a standing position. He sighed as Doflamingo latched on to him, his legs shaking from the sudden change in weight distribution.

"You're… strong," Doflamingo said. His brought a hand to his face.

"Don't tell me you need to throw up," Crocodile said nervously.

"I don't…"

"Good," Crocodile said. "I really don't want to lave to deal with you throwing up right now."

"I'd…hold your hair up…"

Crocodile stared up the flight of stairs he'd have to endure with Doflamingo. He was careful to not let Doflamingo slip too much as he made his way up to the boy's room.

He wasn't too careful when he let Doflamingo drop on top of his bed. Crocodile looked around the room. The few times he had visited he couldn't help but notice the sloppy interior. There were a million different things scattered throughout the room, each with a nice layer of "newness" covering it. This time was no different. Even though it was dark inside of the room Crocodile could see piles upon piles of still-new objects, each one quickly neglected out of boredom. Crocodile couldn't help but wonder how someone like Doflamingo managed to still find him interesting. He was old, and getting older.

"Mmmm."

Crocodile looked down at the bed, watching Doflamingo fight his way through his bed sheets.

"What's wrong?"

"…I need water," Doflamingo grumbled.

Crocodile paled. He hurried over to the trash bin lying in the messy corner of the messier room, bringing it closely to the edge of the bed.

"I'll be right back," he said.

"Kayyy," Doflamingo replied. Just as Crocodile left he noticed Doflamingo crawling over to the edge of the bed.

Gross, it was happening.

He hurried back down and raced into the kitchen. Crocodile was in a hurry, and since he hadn't been paying to much attention to the sink, he couldn't help but notice, as he made his way back up the flight of stairs, how he had let the cup fill to the top, and was now spilling water, some of it landing on his jeans. He went into the room, spotting Doflamingo holding on to his self and some of the blankets. He knelt down and offered the water.

"Drink," he ordered. He noticed a foul, alcoholic scent coming from the bin. He covered his nose, trying to avoid the sour, almost coppery stench emitting form the bin.

Doflamingo forced himself up, taking the cup with a shaky hand and began nursing his water. Crocodile sat himself next to the younger male, trying to keep his eyes away from the trash bin.

"I-I-I messed up," he heard Doflamingo say. He coughed, covering his mouth with his arm, and then took another sip. "The room's gonna reek now."

"I'll leave it out if you think you don't need it," Crocodile said.

"Man... the water does nothing for the taste," Doflamingo groaned. He brought himself to take a final sip of water, letting it slosh around in his mouth before swallowing it. He placed the cup on a drawer and let the rest of his body flop on the bed.

"I ruined the night," Doflamingo muttered.

"I had fun. Overall, it was ok," Crocodile said.

"Really?" he boy asked. He turned his head and stared up at Crocodile. "Even though my room is starting to smell?"

"I'm going to leave that in the hallway now," Crocodile said.

"Wait…you're staying?"

"It would be irresponsible of me to leave you like this," Crocodile said as he got up and picked the trash bin up from the side of the bed. He closed his eyes tight as he navigated his way out of Doflamingo's room, letting the heavy bin rest right outside of the closed the door shut and opened his eyes, his mouth dry from holding his breath for too long.

"Besides," he muttered. He walked over to the bed and knelt down in front of the pale blond. "This is what friends are for…watching over them so they don't drown in their own vomit. Or piss themselves. Or do something really fucking stupid. "

Doflamingo stared back with semi-alert eyes. "Really?"

"Yes," Crocodile said. This was beginning to feel eerily familiar. He sniffed, taking in fresh air, and pushed the strange feeling away as stood back up. "I'll stay. I'll make sure you don't accidentally kill yourself."

"How romantic," he heard the blond slur. He ignored it and grabbed the bed covers, letting them cover Doflamingo up to the face.

"Too warm," the boy groaned.

"Too bad."

Crocodile grabbed his shirt and pulled it off while Doflamingo struggled with the sheets. Crocodile was sure there would be enough pillows to build a safe, vomit-protecting barrier between him and Doflamingo.

Crocodile pulled Doflamingo closer to the edge. "Stay on this side of the bed," he ordered. "Keep your head to the side. Don't sleep on your back, ok?"

"Yeah, yeah," Doflamingo yawned.

Crocodile stared at the young blond, noticing how his clothes were still on. He knew he could help him with that, but chose not to. He slipped off his shoes and socks before crawling over to his half of Doflamingo's bed.

"Don't turn around," he warned as he placed two pillows between the two of them. "Don't want you to smother yourself."

"Kay…" It sounded a little disappointed.

Crocodile was without a pillow, but he was sure he'd get over it. He closed his eyes and kept to his side. He felt the bed sheets move around.

"Crocodile?"

"…What?"

The sheets moved again. "Nothing," Doflamingo answered through the sheets.

Crocodile closed his eyes.

* * *

About two hours later Crocodile woke up with the unbelievable need to urinate. The first thing he noticed when he woke up was Doflamingo sleeping on his back, arms stretched out and a hand covering part of Crocodile's face. He grabbed the hand and threw it over back to Doflamingo before fighting his way out of the bed.

Doflamingo groaned, curling and grabbing what was once a barrier, now a cuddle pillow.

Crocodile hurried out and did his business. The hallway had a strange smell to it. He hurried back into Doflamingo's warm, messy room, and made his way back into the bed, just as rough and uncaring as before. He moved Doflamingo, grabbing the remains of the barrier and deciding he'd spend the rest of the night with a pillow under his head.

Doflamingo muttered something. Crocodile felt the pillow the boy had held on to before get pushed down the bed. Doflamingo's leg brushed against his jeans.

"Sorry…"

Crocodile buried his face into his pillow. "Mhmm…" he didn't care.

"We…both are drunk."

"Mhmm…"

Crocodile let his arm slip under the pillow. He closed his eyes, feeling sleep already beginning to claim him.

"I can't think…"

"Mhmm…." Once again, he didn't care. Doflamingo was out of it. The boy had no idea what he was saying and probably wouldn't remember any of later.

He suddenly felt a hand touch his back.

"Croco?"

Crocodile let his eyes flutter open. He took a deep breath, reminding himself that he was sharing a bed with a piss drunk teenager.

"What?" he hummed into the pillow.

"…We're both drunk, right?" _A trap!_

What a strange question. Crocodile sighed into the pillow. He felt Doflamingo's hand pull itself away from his back.

"Yes," he answered. "Sorta. You're drunk. I'm fine."

"…or we're both… drunk." _A trap. It was a trap_.

"Fine, we're both drunk," Crocodile said. "Go to bed." He closed his eyes again.

The sheets moved. Somebody was moving around. Crocodile felt it get a bit warmer in the bed.

He felt the hand return. Crocodile kept his eyes closed.

"…Nobody remembers what they do when they're drunk." It was a rather fine statement, said without a break or a stutter. Crocodile could help but open his eyes nice and wide when he realized just how well Doflamingo managed to say it all without one fuck-up.

"Mhmm," he said into his pillow.

"We do stupid things…"

Crocodile nudged away from the hand. "Sometimes," he muttered into the pillow.

"We do funny things…"

It was very warm inside of the sheets. Crocodile couldn't help but want to peel away the top cover. He didn't want to leave his back and chest exposed though. Not right now.

"Funny things…we do funny things when we're not ourselves," Doflamingo said. He sounded so…eager, almost like a child anticipating a reward. Crocodile curled up. He grabbed on tightly to his share of the covers.

"Sometimes," he answered carefully.

Funny things, funny games," Doflamingo went on. Crocodile felt the sheets move as Doflamingo freed his two arms, letting them stretch out into the cool air. "We like…to play…funny games." And then came the dreaded nervous laughter.

Crocodile turned his eyes over at the wall. He wanted to get out of the bed, grab his things and leave. He wanted to close his eyes and go back to sleep. He wanted to turn around, face Doflamingo, and punch him in the face.

He rubbed his scar. "Go to bed," he whispered. "Go to bed and I'll forget all of this."

"…I can't."

"And why not?" Crocodile groaned into his pillow. His eyes began to burn. "Why can't you just shut up and go to sleep?"

He heard a sniff. "Because…because you're leaving." He felt Doflamingo shift to his side, staring at his back. Staring right through him.

"You're leaving and never coming back," Doflamingo said. His voice sounded too loud. Crocodile wondered if Doflamingo was aware of what he was saying. Did the boy really believe he wasn't coming back? Did he know that he had no plans on ever coming back? Crocodile wished he had kept up the pillow barrier.

"So you're gonna try it out now?" Crocodile said to the wall. "You think you can just persuade me into giving it a go with you?"

"Why not?" The bed shook. Doflamingo nudged himself closer. Crocodile could feel the temperature increase by a degree. "Why can't we? We're friends, right? We can keep a secret. We've got so many between us already."

"That's not the same," Crocodile snapped. He sat himself up, pulling himself and taking some sheets along with him. He covered his chest, keeping Doflamingo's eager eyes away.

"Does it matter?" Doflamingo asked. "You're going to leave anyways…"

"So why speed up the process?" Crocodile asked. "You want me to leave tonight?"

Doflamingo peered up at him. Crocodile could see the blue eyes filling up with so much emotion. It made him physically ill to even think of what sort of things the boy had planned. He watched the boy's hand stretch out and try to reach his chest, just barely having a finger grab hold of the blanket.

Doflamingo gave a weak tug. "No," he said. He gave another tug. "I just want that precious knowledge. I want to know I had you. Just for a second. A minute. Hell, the hour if you let me experiment with a few things."

"Christ, Doffy," Crocodile said.

"Why are you so upset?" Doflamingo asked. He moved his head up, exposing his less than welcoming grin. "You make it sound like I'm giving you a bad deal. But I'm not. I'm giving you something I know you want. I'm giving you something you know not too many people are willing to provide."

The blond continued to pull his self up."You're a guy. You want it. Let's be honest though; it's hard to get...especially for some people..."

Crocodile felt himself grow nervous. He could feel himself growing weak, parts of him hurting from the words.

Crocodile felt his fingers curl into the sheets. Somewhere in the back of his mind there was an agreement. An understanding. Doflamingo...was telling the truth. It sucked. It fucking sucked so hard. He let his fingers ease as he continued to stare at Doflamingo, tying his best to remain the stronger of the two.

The boy continued to stare up at him not breaking any sort of eye contact. "I can do it..."

The words terrified him. It was the honesty. He saw Doflamingo's fingers tug at the sheets. Crocodile's eyes lowered as the sheets were pulled away.

Two blue eyes locked on to his bare chest, a growing smile appearing as he began to take in Crocodile's developed form. Doflamingo pulled his lips in, his face turning a bright shade of pink. "And I'll do it with a purpose…."

Doflamingo sat right next to him. The boy kept his eyes down as he carefully chose his next words, making the occasional glance over at Crocodile. The boy somehow knew Crocodile was busy with his own mind, trying to think of a decent counterargument.

"Does it matter what you have between your legs?"

Crocodile snapped his head up.

"I don't care," Doflamingo said, still looking down at the messy sheets. "You want to fuck me? Go ahead. If it makes you feel better, then what does it matter?" He slowly looked over to Crocodile. "This house is filled with all sorts of things. I'll handle it. I'll do whatever you want me to do with it." He moved up closer. "I'll fucking worship it if you order me right."

Crocodile could feel his jaw growing heavy with shock. He kept firm. He barely held on.

"Or…I'll work with what you offer me," Doflamingo added. "I have a pretty good idea of what's going on down there. I'm young. I'm so innocent. I'm so easily swayed by whatever you offer me."

"Doflamingo, I really–"

"I know I can suck you off real good," Doflamingo said. "I know exactly what to do with it. I know what to touch. What to ignore. Unless you're ok with it. I'll go everywhere. I won't think you less of a man if it feels good for you _down there_."

Crocodile frowned. Just frowned. This was not the conversation he thought he would have with Doflamingo. Ever. And yet he could only frown.

Doflamingo grabbed hold of his hands. Crocodile realized that he had let him. The boy was still wobbling. He could easily push the boy away.

The two stared at each other. Crocodile suddenly realized how hard his heart was beating.

"…We," the blond said, staring up at Crocodile with incredibly determined eyes, "are very, very drunk right now." Crocodile watched the boy hold the serious expression, keeping his mouth from forming just a hint of a smile. "We have no idea what we're doing…."

"…"

"We're so drunk," Doflamingo purred into his ear. Crocodile could feel the heat of the boy's body pressing against his bare chest. "We're so drunk we're going to play a game. A really weird, strange, funny game."

 _A funny game_. They weren't even going to call it by the proper act. The thing Crocodile had craved since he had finally started puberty. He could have it all. Finally. Nobody would ever know. _He'd know_.

His lips trembled. "…We're really drunk," he finally said.

"Uh-huh," Doflamingo said, his voice suddenly filling with a new energy.

"We won't remember what we did, will we?" Crocodile asked.

"Of course not," Doflamingo said. Crocodile broke his hand away from Doflamingo's nervously letting it hover above the boy's body.

Doflamingo was a sixteen-year-old boy. Crocodile was very, very aware of what he wouldn't have, compared to the average woman. Compared to _him_. What was he to make of it? How was he supposed to work around it?

His hand rest above the boy's rear; fingers rubbing against the boy's tight pants as more thoughts entered Crocodile's mind.

Doflamingo wasn't soft. He was a coarse, thin, lanky _boy_. A _boy,_ and yet Crocodile had a very hard time comparing himself to Doflamingo. His head began to ache. His face burned.

He saw Doflamingo began to work on his clothes, yanking off his shirt and quickly fighting over the button and zipper for his pants. Crocodile felt his heart race. He wished he hadn't stared. His eyes were glued to the boy's chest as Doflamingo fell on his back, his legs kicking up dangerously close to Crocodile's face as he tore off his pants. Crocodile drew closer to the blond, getting on all fours, pulling the boy up, and then helping him undo his clothes. He realized the boy mimicking his actions, feeling frightened fingers working on his jeans. Crocodile ignored it as best as he could.

"I'll forget everything."

Crocodile realized he was probably going to have to keep his word on the ocean thing. Like everything else, this was something that was inevitably going to place Doflamingo on higher ground.

"Will you forget?"

Somehow this was going to bite himself in the back.

The first kiss was hesitant. Doflamingo had just barely undone Crocodile's jeans when he pulled him back up and brought Doflamingo into it. Crocodile felt the boy's lips; cool, dry, thin, and shaking from their sudden contact. The boy hands grabbed on to the jeans, tugging them and the rest of Crocodile's clothing down, past the hips. Crocodile knew he was about to become exposed. He pulled away from the boy's lips, no longer feeling too eager.

Doflamingo held on to Crocodile, one hand grabbing the man's shoulder, the other still on the sliding jeans, letting his weight push the two down back on the bed. Crocodile felt the boy's lips welcoming him back, this time warmer and wetter, and against the bottom of his neck.

The hand that clung to the pants made a quick shift over to Crocodile's lower stomach. Crocodile breathed heavily as Doflamingo continued to kiss and nip at his neck, practically humming out his joy through soft moans of ecstasy, moving further down, past Crocodile's collarbone, and choosing to rest his hungry lips against the man's chest.

The hand moved further downward. Crocodile's eyelids fluttered when he felt it happen.

"What are we doing?" he heard Doflamingo ask.

Fingers rubbed against the sensitive flesh. First one, then two. Crocodile let a hand grab hold of Doflamingo's hair, instinctively trying to push the boy further.

"Wait," the boy whined. A tongue lapped against Crocodile's nipple. "Don't be fucking greedy," Doflamingo warned. Teeth grazed against the heated skin. "I mean it."

Crocodile groaned as Doflamingo gave the organ a quick squeeze. "Shit!"

"Hurts so good?"

He slapped his left hand over his face. "Fuck."

Doflamingo chuckled. "Let me take your pants off all the way."

Crocodile stared up at the dark ceiling. He wasn't feeling too keen on this request.

"What are we doing?" he asked. _A fantastic question._ His entire body felt like it was on fire, but right now Crocodile was really beginning to wonder if this would be worth it. What would he do with himself afterwards? The fingers moved on to the side of his swelling organ, each one pressing against the small cluster of nerves, causing an intense, almost indescribably sensation to run up Crocodile's stomach.

"Let me try…"

Crocodile let him. He felt Doflamingo yank at his jeans and Crocodile gave in to the need, lifting his self up and helping guide the rest of his clothes off.

Doflamingo's hands grab on on to his hips. Crocodile let him. He let his hand grab on to the boy's soft, messy hair, guiding him further down to get that feeling back, stronger and far more severe than the last time.

Two fingers pried him apart. Crocodile let out a hiss, feeling Doflamingo's hot, wet tongue lap him up. He fought the urge to arch, covering his mouth from too loud moans as Doflamingo's continued to slide his tongue up and down the area, stopping and closing his lips around Crocodile's heated organ.

Crocodile sighed into his hand. Doflamingo continued to suck him off, letting Crocodile's fingers bury themselves into his hair, his breathing exposing the buildup of pleasure. Crocodile could feel curious fingers let go of him, moving down between his legs, resting against his inner leg, tickling his skin as Doflamingo pondered his next move.

"Don't," he warned.

Doflamingo said nothing. Obviously.

Crocodile's face burned red. He shivered, feeling an electric storm build up inside of him. He tightly gripped on to Doflamingo's hair, feeling a burst of hot, white pleasure hit him in the back of his mind, filling his skull and running down the rest of his body. He jerked, his hips aching to push forwards, his body shaking with delight, his hand just barely stopping him from waking up the neighborhood.

He sank into the bed. Doflamingo let go of his hips, lifting himself back up and wiping his face.

"I told you," he heard the boy mutter.

"Fuck," Crocodile hissed. He blinked, noticing that his eyesight was strained. He saw twinkles when he blinked. His body tickled. "You're sixteen."

Doflamingo crawled over, standing on all fours right above Crocodile.

"This sixteen year old still has a boner," Doflamingo said. "This sixteen year old needs to know where it's about to go."

Doflamingo grabbed Crocodile left hand, bringing it right above the undone pants.

"The sixteen year old wants you to touch it."

Crocodile stared at his covered hand. He could _already_ feel it. And it made him nervous. It made him nervous and _very_ aware. Doflamingo pressed his hand against Crocodile's, Crocodile's hand pressing against very warm boxer briefs.

"Where am I going?" Doflamingo teased. "I know one hole I'm not allowed in… _yet_."

"Don't get any ideas," Crocodile snapped back. He lifted his shaky right arm, bringing both hands to Doflamingo's tight pants, giving each side a rough tug.

"Fine, fine," Doflamingo said. "Doesn't matter anyway." He lifted himself up a bit, helping with removing and tossing his clothes across the room.

Crocodile couldn't help but stare. Doflamingo sat right on top of him, stupid grin and all, the damn erection sticking up right at him. It also didn't help Crocodile was beginning to feel rather fatigued. He knew it was his turn. He hesitantly reached for it, his hand lightly gripping the base of the erect penis.

Was strange that he knew what exactly what to do with it? No, he supposed it wasn't. He decided to take Doflamingo's approach, and tightened his grip around the organ, letting his hand quickly slide up and down the shaft. Doflamingo gripped Crocodile's shoulder, his face blushing a deep red as Crocodile began to work him, the boy legs locking in place as he held himself in place.

The boy sighed. "Y-you're good."

Crocodile decided he'd let this be a compliment. Only because of the situation. After this he'd do what he could to repress it all.

"I want your mouth," the boy moaned.

He was getting nervous again. He let his thumb slide over Doflamingo's moist tip, feeling liquid dripping from the attention he was giving it. And now Doflamingo wanted it in his mouth?

Doflamingo huffed, letting go of Crocodile's shoulder, moving himself forward and causing Crocodile to stop jerking off the boy. He could see the game shifting in Doflamingo's favor. The boy sat on his chest. He didn't want that fear to show. His chest felt a little heavy. It was getting hard to breath again.

Crocodile stared at the sudden change, taking the stiff erection back in his hands, feeling his throat suddenly go dry as he brought it to his lips. He stared up at Doflamingo, who was eagerly staring back down at him. Crocodile made sure not to break any contact as he went ahead and tasted the tip, giving a quick taste test before taking the head of the penis in his mouth.

Doflamingo gripped the sheets, breathing fast and heavy as Crocodile began to roughly suck on the tip. It wasn't a bad taste or sensation. It was warm. Salty. It wasn't too bad. Crocodile lidded his eyes as he let more into his mouth, wincing a bit when he felt a sudden contraction race through his body. It was a delicate, sudden burst of pleasure. Leftover pleasure? It burst and sprinkled itself throughout his body, resting, sinking, and making its way down a particular area. It stayed.

Crocodile eyes opened. He did not like _that_.

Doflamingo whined. "Don't stop."

Crocodile exhaled through his nose. He did his best to ignore this feeling. It was a pressure, a pressure inside of him. He went and let the rest of Doflamingo's erection in his mouth. He needed to get this over with. He let Doflamingo give, quick, light thrusts into his mouth as his tongue slid across the bottom, feeling the boy's hands play with his hair, his scar, his chest, anything.

It was…hurting. It was a wonderful ache. But it was an ache inside of him. It was inside of him, begging for some sensation. The other part of him was finished. Crocodile felt finished, all except that one part.

 _What a goddamn bitch_.

"I'm coming," Doflamingo warned. Crocodile could feel the boy hold on to him again, his thin body practically falling into a fetal position as Doflamingo's legs buckled to Crocodile's sides, a long, loud whine escaping his lips. Crocodile pulled his head away; escaping most of the rough, jabbing thrusts that Doflamingo felt the need to produce as he came inside of his mouth. This was salty. It was very warm and very strange. Crocodile immediately covered his mouth, thinking of the trash bin he had left out in the hallway.

He coughed.

"Spit it out," Doflamingo tiredly whispered. The boy still held on to him. His curved back swayed.

Crocodile swallowed. He made a face.

"Dude, I said spit it out," Doflamingo groaned. He sighed, moving off of Crocodile and letting his self hit the bed face flat. Doflamingo breathed into his pillow.

"Fuck."

Crocodile stared up at the ceiling. He felt tired. He felt done. There was still that strange, sprinkle of need resting inside of him, growing weaker, but it's presence still known.

"Crocodile?"

He turned his head, looking over at two equally tired blue eyes. "What?" he asked.

"We're drunk."

Crocodile nod his head.

"We did something."

He nod his head gain, this time a bit more frantically _. A very bad game_.

"…We're not going to talk about tonight after this, because we're just so drunk," Doflamingo choked out. Crocodile saw the boy grab the sheets and cover part of his face. Doflamingo turned to his side.

"No, we're not," Crocodile said. He grabbed his share of the sheets.

"Crocodile?"

Crocodile turned to his side, his back facing Doflamingo's. "What?"

"…" The sheets moved. Crocodile could somehow make out Doflamingo reaching out for his undergarments. He could imagine the boy's every move; slow, unwilling, almost breaking apart with every action he performed.

"…Nothing," Doflamingo finally said. He felt the bed shake. Crocodile envisioned the boy dressing himself.

Crocodile was grateful. The remaining embers inside of him burned and died out.

"Good night."

Crocodile stared at the wall. He sighed through his nose and sat himself up. From the corner of his eye he saw Doflamingo peering up at him, looking unfortunately hopeful. Crocodile looked down the bed sheets, found the pillow, and reached out and grabbed it. He fell on his back, taking the pillow with him.

He lazily placed it placed it between him and Doflamingo.

"Don't throw up," he muttered, still staring up.

The blankets moved once more. Crocodile closed his eyes. He closed his eyes and placed all his concentration on sleep. He placed his concentration on sleep and told himself that he'd wake up nice and early, and that he would leave before Doflamingo woke up. He'd leave nice and early, and the boy would have his heart broken, but there would be a mutual understanding between the two of them.

He breathed softly into his collection of blankets and sheets. His mind was getting light, his body feeling separate from everything else.

Fingers lightly touched his face.

 _No_. Crocodile kept his eyes closed. _No_.

They moved away, and were replaced with a gentle hand on his head, gently petting him as though he were a frightened animal. Crocodile kept his eyes clothes, letting his body sink further, convincing himself none of this was happening. His heartbeat continued to slow and ease, even with the increase of temperature; another face coming close to his own.

 _No. Don't do this, Doflamingo_.

_Why does he always do these sorts of things?_

He felt two lips lightly press against his cheek. Lightly, gently, but with a different sort of passion than what he had given the boy before. It was a feeling that made him wonder.

His head began to ache.

He felt the fingers playing with his hair begin to shake. The lips pulled away, trembling; filled with a hurt Crocodile was surprised he was capable of creating without the use of force. He kept his position, ignoring it all, letting his rest come before anything else.

But now his body ached.

"…shit," he heard the boy whimper.

And now everything ached. Crocodile silently begged for sleep to come. He didn't want to be awake when the boy broke down. He didn't want to hear Doflamingo proclaim his love to him. He couldn't do this, not right now.

 _That sad, empty little hole ached_.

* * *

Crocodile woke up at around six. He figured he must have been a little drunk, since he woke up with a minor sting across the forehead.

Doflamingo was asleep. Crocodile found the boy resting on top of him, not latched on like he had feared when he noticed the body heat and weight, but still all over him. He very carefully peeled the boy off of him, thanking god that Doflamingo was too hung-over to bear with the world right now. He got out of bed without hearing Doflamingo react.

He began to collect his clothes. His underwear was missing. He gave up the search and put on his jeans. He stared down at himself.

He hated the way it all looked down there. It did not look normal. It was a nasty hybridization of what he ought to have been. _Not even that._

He continued to stare down as he realized that Doflamingo had never made a comment about it.

If only there was a way of asking. Crocodile zipped up his jeans and then put on his shirt. He couldn't find his jacket. He did find his keys and wallet. Doflamingo was still asleep. He was all right with what he had.

Crocodile crept out of the room, lightly shutting the door behind him, telling himself over and over again that what had happened never did, and that it would never be brought up again. He closed the front door behind him and had convinced himself that everything that had happened afterword was just a dream, that Doflamingo was better than that. Doflamingo wouldn't let his feelings get in the way of Crocodile's goal.

He closed the door to his car. He stared out of the front window, feeling just a little uncanny about everything. The car was started. He looked up at the house, spotting the window to Doflamingo's room.

He could see the boy staring down, right back at him.

* * *


	14. The Second Set and the Situation

**-Part 2-**

**-Then-**

There were three solid knocks, separated by an equal one-second pause, letting Crocodile know that Mihawk had arrived. The young man remained quiet in his room, back to the door. He was in no mood to have guests over.

"What?" he asked stiffly.

November was two days away. The original plan had been to leave at the end of the year, maybe before Christmas. No, definitely before the holidays. Crocodile had wanted to leave while everyone else was distracted. He wanted to disappear from this stagnating land before anyone could notice and drag him back into it.

Things had been slowing down lately, and Crocodile kept his back to the door as he listened to it open, hearing Mihawk slowly make his entrance.

"Renovating?" the boy asked, looking around Crocodile's bare room.

The original plan was to leave at the end of the year. For some reason this had changed as Crocodile was finding himself more and more preoccupied with removing posters from his wall, collecting up old figurines and choosing what would remain and what would be tossed, chucking away anything that was over ten years old, from his distant, alien childhood, and folding clothes for warmer weather and placing them in boxes or bags.

"Something like that," he replied. He got up from his desk and stared coldly at the boy. His writing desk had been left intact. Unlike the rest of Crocodile room, he had no choice but to leave it that way. Nasty scribbles adorned the sheet of paper that covered it. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Do you get carded at the stores?" Mihawk asked.

"You want me to buy you something?"

"It's for a party," the teen confessed.

"I didn't think you were into those," Crocodile remarked.

"Shanks said he'd get us alcohol, but I've seen his fake I.D," Mihawk replied as he made quick glances around the small room. All sorts of clothes were aligned and folded across Crocodile's bed. He spread his legs, hoping to cover more ground and make what nonsense he had illustrated as invisible as possible. The young man could see that Mihawk knew something was up. It wasn't like the boy to go out of his usual bored expression. It wasn't like him to let his mind wander out of the usual. The last time he did he almost got himself killed.

"So…when are you leaving?"

Crocodile's frown could not expand any further without his face beginning to ache. "I'm not," he said.

"It looks like you are," the teen remarked. Crocodile leered at the boy. Mihawk shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket. "Do you get carded?" he asked, changing the subject and letting his voice fall flat.

"No, not anymore. The scar helps," Crocodile mentioned. He could see Mihawk grow uncomfortable at the mentioning of the scar. Even after more than two years the subject of his scar and how and why he received it was still a touchy subject. He looked over at his bed, quickly counting up the piles of long sleeved tops he had then added, "my I.D is pretty realistic."

"If I give you money can you buy a few six or a twelve pack?"

"How much am I making off of this?" Crocodile asked.

The boy shrugged. "I'll give you twenty."

It wasn't as though he had anything better to do. He had cleaned his walls of any precious memorabilia, leaving all the shelves bare minus a few special trinkets that would kept out until it was time to leave, and most of the clothes he didn't care too much about had already been organized and packed. His drawing desk was the only thing that had been left intact, but only because the young man needed a way to release his frustration without punching a hole in the wall, a feeling that he noticed had begun to rise since returning home one morning.

The trash bin next to the desk was filling up with crumbled up disturbances that would not leave Crocodile's mind, no matter how many times he illustrated it, scribbled it out, and detailed it after hours and hours of hard work and patience. Even though Mihawk never saw a thing there was a huge wave of relief when they left, because all Crocodile could think about while they spoke were those stupid crumbled up pieces of paper, tossed away without a second thought, even though they held nasty little secrets.

The two walked past several small liquor stores, opting for something more mainstream. When you're an adult it's so much easier to steal or trick the big name stores. Cheap dollar and liquor stores expect thieves, and a camera can cover an entire store. A Walmart or Target would be filled with cameras, but they hardly ever got the face, not that Crocodile would have to worry to begin with. Maybe a bottle of gin to help him ease the migraine that developed in the back of his mind when he though too much these days, but he would be semi-honest with the alcohol today and would buy Mihawk his cheap, watered down beer.

And right now he stood in front of the large array of choices, with Mihawk carefully shadowing him, but somehow sticking out like a boy who had never purchased alcohol in his entire life, giving a nod when Crocodile picked up a somewhat decent brand for the raven-haired boy to show off with later.

Mihawk was getting older. Crocodile hadn't thought too much about it, never really caring enough to try, but he supposed parties were something that someone had to go to at least once in their life. Everyone needed that kind of peer pressure. Everyone needed a sort of release.

And now his head began to hurt.

The jacket he had on him wasn't heavy enough to safely hide a large bottle of strong tasting gin or vodka. Nevermind whiskey. Crocodile quickly perused the aisle until he found a few single serving bottles, picking up a few flavored choices that fit comfortably in the palm of his hand, and letting them slip under the cuff of his jacket. He plucked three and figured he had enough to give him a decent buzz, and then left the aisle with Mihawk following him at a safer distance.

As he got closer to the register he shooed the boy away. Mihawk was just too obvious. He placed the twelve-pack down and he looked over and saw something colorful in the distance. He shoved his left hand into his pocket, letting a small bottle slip inside. He squint his eyes and could see the rows of strangely colored sunglasses, the ancient remains of the eighties and early nineties, up for sale at a huge discount.

He bought the beer without getting carded. The scar, though somewhat annoying, was admittedly good and giving Crocodile a few good years to his age. He hated how it itched and ached in the cold, but at least he wouldn't have to worry too much about getting his fix for the next two years.

He couldn't see where Mihawk went off to, so when the beer was bagged, instead of heading out, Crocodile went over to the corner of the store, staring at the discounts being given away, at a ugly pair of pointed, white sunglasses with orange tinted lenses.

"What are you doing?" he heard a nervous voice ask. Crocodile shook his head. It bothered him how terrible Mihawk was at this. He was friends with several well-known thieves, and yet he didn't know how to act when a crime was being committed. Poor Mihawk didn't like that the planned had diverged. Crocodile picked up the pair of sunglasses and lifted them up into the light, surprised that he could see through the intensely colored spectacles.

"How interesting," he muttered. Crocodile knew the key to not getting caught was to keep calm and appear that he belonged in whatever scenario he had chosen to enter. This was not the first time he had stole something, nor would it be the last.

Mihawk, out of impatience and unwillingness to enjoy the ugly trinket, grabbed the sunglasses and stomped off to the cashier. Crocodile turned himself around and watched Mihawk buy the pair, without ever having asked if Crocodile cared enough to even want them in the first place. There were neon green and reddish purple shades, Crocodile could have easily picked any of them out, but instead he chose the color that didn't go with a goddamn thing he wore, not that it really mattered, because they were horrifically ugly sunglasses, and judging by the other pointed shades, he'd have to wear them pretty high up his face in order to cover his eyes.

Also, he'd look like a complete jackass wearing them.

Crocodile sighed, raising his scarf up with his shoulder as he was reminded of his scar and the cold weather that awaited him outside, and then slowly dragged himself out of the store, unsure of how he would tell Mihawk that he had just wasted five dollars on something that had only struck with Crocodile's curiosity. While he waited he let his right hand into the sleeve of his left arm, pulling out the remaining bottles and placing them in the pocket of his jacket.

"Here you go," Mihawk said when he walked out, showing a small plastic bag into Crocodile's hand, along with fifteen dollars and a penny.

He looked down at the bag with dismay. "Where's the rest of my money?" he asked rhetorically. Of course, the sunglasses would have resulted in such a devastating end for him, but Crocodile pushed the thought away, hoping Mihawk's IQ had simply dropped in the past five minutes, and that he would receive the rest of his promised share in a matter of seconds.

"The sunglasses cost $4.99," Mihawk answered.

"I don't recall ever wanting them, or asking for them, or having anything to do with them," Crocodile said, pulling out the white sunglasses.

"You were playing with them," Mihawk answered.

"And you somehow deducted that I wanted to commit to wearing them out in public?"

Mihawk frowned. Crocodile held on to the pack of beer.

"I think they'd look nice on you."

"Fuck off, I want my money," Crocodile replied.

Mihawk groaned. "Seriously?"

Crocodile raised the bag of alcohol up and waved it in front of Mihawk. "You'd be surprised how quickly I'd be able to finish this," he muttered.

"That'll burn through your week's injection," Mihawk stated.

"The look on your face when you tell everyone you've failed would make it worthwhile," he replied. "I know how you are with promises."

"…"

"How many other people do you know who'll be willing to buy you all of this?"

Mihawk sighed, pulling out his wallet and handed Crocodile a five. He snatched it from the boy, shoving it into his jacket and then handed Mihawk his pack of beer. Mihawk said nothing as he took the bag. Crocodile then offered the smaller bag to him, letting it playfully sway in front of Mihawk's disgruntled face.

"I think they'd look better on you."

"They're absolutely hideous," Mihawk muttered.

"And you were going to have me accept them as a part of the payment?" Crocodile feigned the question. He snorted. "What a piece of shit…" He let his arm hang to his side, the glasses swaying just enough to remind him that he was stuck with them, at least until he could find an interesting enough way to destroy them. Or maybe he'd just throw them over a running train.

He lifted his scarf up to cover the bottom half of his face, just below his prickling, ticklish scar, while Mihawk wandered into the city, looking unnatural as possible without even knowing it.

* * *

Mondays were usually the moodiest for Crocodile. And while he took a shot from one of his three bottles, he could feel the back of his head ache as he reminded himself it was Monday, and on Mondays he always stuck a needle in, and even though things were supposed to distribute evenly, there was always that hindering thought that would pop up in the back of his mind, and he'd get anxious and moody and incredibly restless.

Crocodile had the very strong urge to keep away from his house. He was already outside, and he had wasted half the day organizing and reorganizing clothes that couldn't really be boxed away, not quite yet. He wanted to get the hell out of Arizona as soon as possible, and while he certainly planned on moving up the date, there were still restrictions binding him to the state.

He chose fireworks, not the idea itself, because there wasn't an idea to begin with, just the actual word when it popped up in his head. He would take a bus to the reservation, purchase some fireworks, and do…who the fuck knew? They were fireworks, and they weren't the shitty sparkling kind either. They were the kind of fireworks that left a nice bang, an ashy residue everywhere, and smelled deliciously good with their hot, heavy smoke. With smoke on the mind, Crocodile also considered procuring some cheap cigarettes as well, if he was to go to the reservation.

Maybe he'd light something on fire. One last hurray before he left.

He could always tie the fireworks to a living creature. He wasn't drunk or sadistic enough at the moment to actually consider the thought, but seeing how anxious and restless he was feeling now, Crocodile wouldn't be too surprised if he did end up murdering a cat or small wild animal.

He wanted to destroy something. That's what was bothering him so much. Crocodile needed to see something, or some _being_ , to get wrecked.

So Crocodile headed back home, his pace faster than what it had been when he had forced himself up and along with Mihawk to the convenient store, his scarf somehow undoing itself and him having to fix it over and over again. He also considered just taking a car, but he really didn't want to burn a building down until the sun was setting, and the drive to the nearest shithole reservation was less than an hour's way by car.

The cold winds died down, and Crocodile could feel his anxiety ease. Maybe the alcohol was working its way into his blood, soothing those frequent bursts of violent, hormonal desires, and giving Crocodile the opportunity to relax, even sort of smile a bit as he turned the corner into his neighborhood. He pulled out the second bottle, from his pocket, and he began to nurse the flavored vodka, even though it was pretty warm. It didn't matter. The cold air and citrus flavoring made it bearable. He tied the worn top of his small plastic bag together, squeezing the air out of it until it was only eighties tinted sunglasses, and then threw the bag up the air, stumbling forward as it came down so he could catch it. It didn't matter if the sunglasses broke, he might very have made a little plastic bomb out of them later tonight, but he was in a playful mood, for once, and didn't want to lose them on the first, second, or third throw.

He saw Doflamingo's pretty pink bike resting on his porch.

Since the boy could not be found Crocodile just stood in front of the door, knowing full well Doflamingo would be in his room. And if he was inside that would mean that Doflamingo would see the new, stripped down version of his room. Crocodile yanked his house keys from his pocket, no longer looking forward to getting the money he needed.

Doflamingo was a strange one. Ever since Crocodile had left he had not heard a word from the boy. Crocodile wasn't surprised by this outcome since he had been so unlucky to hear Doflamingo moan over the... _thing_ they had done a few weeks prior.

He found Doflamingo on the bed, playing with his Gameboy. Crocodile could see his neat little piles placed on the bedroom floor. At first glance it didn't look like Doflamingo was in any way bothered. His eyes were on the screen, only glancing up when Crocodile had entered the small room, then back down at the game. The clothes were still in their original piled ordered.

Crocodile proceeded with caution. "Can I help you?" he asked.

A smile emerged on the boy's face. Crocodile walked over to the bed, tossing the bed on the sheets, and crossing his arms as he looked down at Doflamingo. "It's Monday," he said. He stared at Doflamingo's everyday attire. "You're missing school?"

"Lets get high," the boy said, looking away from his screen and up at Crocodile. The raven-haired man couldn't help but notice that there was a rather unkempt look to Doflamingo's appearance. His hair, while still short, was in need of a cut. Crocodile could make out the little details.

"I don't have anything," he said. He further analyzed the boy. Doflamingo was out of touch because his backpack was nowhere to be seen. He was out of it because by the looks of it he also forgot his favorite pair of goggles, even though there were clearly no plans on ever going to school.

"Buy something."

"I thought you didn't like pot," Crocodile remarked.

"With you, it's not terribly bad," Doflamingo answered. He turned off his Gameboy and brought himself to the edge of the bed. "And who says it has to be pot?"

Crocodile didn't feel like spending the day stoned. And with Doflamingo in his room, staring up at him he couldn't help but feel that restlessness grow and redevelop inside of him.

"I'm going out," Crocodile said to Doflamingo. "I'm just here to get some money." He then walked away from the bed, from Doflamingo, and went through his top drawer. "You can stay if you want to…but I'm probably not going to be back for a while."

"When are you leaving?"

Crocodile looked over his shoulder and stared at Doflamingo with a warning look.

The boy kept his smile. "I thought you were leaving in December is all." He stuffed his Gameboy into his jacket, then both of his shaky hands. "But I see you're just so ahead of schedule." Doflamingo feigned a laugh. "I might not have time to get you a going-away present."

"Thanks, but don't waste your money," Crocodile said. He filled his wallet with a few more twenties. He heard the plastic bag being touch and messed with by Doflamingo's curious hands. Crocodile quickly made his way to the door.

"Where did you get these?" he heard Doflamingo ask.

Crocodile stopped at the door. "You like them?" he asked without looking at the boy.

"I think they look cool," the boy admitted. From the second floor view Crocodile could see the front door, and it made him feel sicker that he was getting so worked up about this. He knew full well Doflamingo was hiding something. Crocodile shouldn't be so nervous about it anymore. _What was the point?_

"You can have them," he said. Crocodile walked out of the room, letting his kind words distract the boy long enough for him to make it down the flight of stairs, but not long enough that Doflamingo was hurrying down after him.

"I can really have these?" Doflamingo called out. His voice was a pitch higher. Crocodile guessed that such an ugly thing would cause excitement to Doflamingo. His trembling hands were on the stair railing, and Crocodile could just imagine the look on the birdbrains face once he gave a stiff nod of the head before trying to inch his way to the front door.

"How do I look?"

Crocodile huffed. He very stiffly turned around and looked up, staring at Doflamingo holding on to the railing with both his hands, quite obviously too nervous for his own good, looking down with that smile, the white and tinted sunglasses raised nice and high and covering his two blue eyes. He looked like an asshole, just as Crocodile had suspected anyone would look like wearing them. But the sunglasses brought a feeling of familiarity that he had not experienced in a few years now. Doflamingo had his sunglasses-

"-About time you got me a new pair," the boy remarked. He pulled them off and looked at them, admiring the colored shades as though they had always been an intended gift. "And these are so pretty."

"Try not to cry," Crocodile muttered, heading out the door.

But he didn't get very far on his own. Doflamingo must have raced down the stairs, because Crocodile was still going across the front lawn when Doflamingo grabbed on to him, slowing him down into a halt, feeling thin arms tightly wrap themselves around him.

Crocodile sighed. "I'm in a hurry," he lied.

Doflamingo eased his embrace. "What are _we_ going to do?"

"We?"

"Yes, I'll help pay for whatever thing you have in mind," the boy said. "I saw you pull out quite a bit too…are you planning on moving away tonight?"

"No," Crocodile answered. He made a note to hurry up with the packing once he was done with Doflamingo. Doflamingo had seen what he was up to. Somehow he would try to stop it. Crocodile's head ached again so he pulled out his final serving of alcohol and began to nurse on it.

"What are we doing, then?"

"I'm getting fireworks," Crocodile commented. "I'm going to do something with them." He sipped and watched Doflamingo skip ahead of him to the car.

"I'm taking the bus," he said.

Doflamingo frowned. "The bus?" he asked. Doflamingo knew Crocodile's destination. And Doflamingo thought himself too good to take the bus everywhere. "That'll take forever."

"Precisely," Crocodile said.

It was hard to tell Doflamingo's exact expression with those stupid sunglasses. The orange shades were distracting enough, and the odd way they were shaped added a level of intimidation to Doflamingo's demeanor. Crocodile could not see through the shades, so the blond's blue eyes were invisible. He just barley knew that Doflamingo was bothered by something.

"You don't know what you want to blow up yet?"

"I'm mulling over it," Crocodile replied.

"If we take the car I can find us all sort of things to destroy," Doflamingo said.

"Like what?"

"We're going to a reservation," Doflamingo said, grinning widely at Crocodile. "You see how much crap they dump along the way? We start with mattresses and then work our way up from there."

Mattresses were boring, but they did seem like a nice place to start with. Crocodile then pondered over the possibility of setting a trailer on fire, maybe even one filled with feral cats.

Doflamingo slammed his hand on top of Crocodile's car. That usual, cocky look of his showed through the orange lenses. Crocodile wanted a good enough reason to push Doflamingo away, but so far the blond kept to his word and didn't mention a thing about what had happened a few weeks prior. _But would it have mattered even if he did?_

Crocodile walked over to the car, ignoring Doflamingo move excitedly about, practically jumping into his car seat. He started it up, letting that thought of Doflamingo wanted to get high hover above his head for several minutes with the upmost amount of suspicion.

The boy hadn't gotten high in years.

* * *

Tax-free cigarettes had a stronger, more acidic taste; at least that's how this particular brand was for Crocodile.

The weather had cooled down drastically, and even with the added warmth from a sweater he had uncovered in the back of his car, along with the biological heat created through his tipsiness, Crocodile was still feeling rather chilly. He had to smoke though. His scar tickled in the still air. Crocodile let out lazy exhales and let the warm smoke hang around his face.

"You think it's a foxhole?" he heard Doflamingo ask.

The boy was talking about the small hole that they had passed on their way to the reservation. On their way back from it both couldn't help but stop. The same, gruesome thought had entered both their minds. Doflamingo was resting on a squat, his head to the side as he carefully looked into the dark hole.

"How big are foxes," Crocodile muttered. He pulled himself off the car and walked over to the strange hole. It was situated right beneath a boulder and a pile of torn, papery looking garbage. "And how do we know there's anything inside?"

"All desert dwellers are nocturnal," Doflamingo answered. In his hands was a small, red and yellow rocket.

"Could be a rabbit," Crocodile suggested.

"Rabbit's scream," Doflamingo said.

"That they do," Crocodile remarked. He'd like to hear a scream. He removed the half used cigarette from his thin lips and offered it to Doflamingo. The boy looked up, smirking evilly as he took it in his hands, shaking a little as he brought the burning end to the long string that hung from the colored rocket.

"On the count of three?"

"The car's parked far enough," Crocodile said, looking over at his car. A good five feet. And he doubted the boulder on top of the hole would move. If a fire started they'd be able to escape in time. Doflamingo would probably have to drive, but they'd be fine.

"What about us?"

Crocodile shrugged. "You really think we're in any danger?"

"Guy selling it was pretty shifty," Doflamingo said.

Crocodile groaned. "Ugh, just light the damn thing already!"

Doflamingo made a face and commented on Crocodile's shitty drunk attitude. Crocodile snorted. He knew he wasn't drunk. He looked over at the sunset and mulled over what to burn or destroy later. They were in the middle of nowhere, in between a reservation and damn near empty liquor store. Even with the mattresses, garbage bags, and distant abandoned building, Crocodile was still feeling unsatisfied about his purchase.

"It's lit," Doflamingo commented. Crocodile watched Doflamingo stand up and back away from the hole. Crocodile took only a few steps back, his eyes on the lit firework that was aimed into the hole. He covered his face up with the scarf, his eyes glued to the flashing light and gathering smoke that began to lift up as the fuse dwindled down to the last few inches.

"I hope it's a bunny," Doflamingo said, finishing off the rest of Crocodile's cigarette.

"I hope there's something in there to begin with," Crocodile said underneath his shrouded breath.

And then the rocket went off, shooting itself right into the hole. At the sound of its scream both boys stumbled back with surprise, Doflamingo actually covering himself with his arms, and then they eased up, their eyes on hole.

The ground shook. Crocodile and Doflamingo could make out the sounds of muffled popping taking place inside of the hole. They both took another step back. The ground shook again, this time earning a few shaking pebbles, and an explosion of smoke escaped from the tiny entrance, racing out and dispersing all over the area.

"Holy shit," Doflamingo said.

"Boring," Crocodile muttered in disappointment.

But no sooner did the smoke burst out like a strange bomb did a solid, screeching mass shoot out from the hole. Crocodile's jaw slowly began to drop, though his expression remained rather poised and bored as a small, round form jumped and screamed in its high pitched voice, running out of the hole and halfway across the highway before stopping and dropping on it's stomach. Doflamingo laughed, pointing at the smoking body, and Crocodile himself couldn't help but wander off and approach the cooked body, his sneakers poking at the singed flesh, his nose, while still covered with the scarf, wrinkling at the sour, overcooked smell.

"What is it?" Doflamingo asked, running over and grabbing Crocodile.

Crocodile shrugged. "I don't know…a large rat?"

"A muskrat?" Doflamingo said aloud.

"What the fuck is a muskrat?" Crocodile asked.

"A large rat," Doflamingo answered. He let go of Crocodile and ran across the other half of the street. Crocodile watched Doflamingo fish through a dead, dry bush and pick out a decent enough stick. He walked back to the center of the road. He poked at the body.

"Gross," Doflamingo said. "It's all cooked."

"How do you think it ran this far?" Crocodile asked, watching Doflamingo stab at the thickened skin. The large rat-like creature was constantly releasing smoke from its few orifices. The muscles would have been stiffened through the heating process.

"Willpower?" Doflamingo commented. He shrugged, dropping the stick as he grew more bored with the dead animal.

"What now?" Crocodile heard Doflamingo ask.

"There's an abandoned building off about a mile away," Crocodile said.

"What should we fill it with?"

Crocodile raised a brow. "Fill it? "

"Why set an empty building on fire?" Doflamingo asked. "You're going to be leaving anyways, might as well fill it up with all sorts of things and set it ablaze."

Crocodile liked the idea, but at the same time worried over the risks. He was leaving soon, and it was that exact reason he knew he should be avoiding getting himself into too much trouble. He grabbed ahold of himself when a cool breeze the two of them. The noxious scent of burned rat filled his nostrils and he was reminded of the sin he had just committed.

He knew there would be so much more excitement if he just let it all burn.

* * *

Halfway to Crocodile's house Doflamingo changed his mind and wanted to get drunk instead. Crocodile thought this was better than wasting money on an ounce or an edible, so they made a slight detour to the same convenience store he and Mihawk had visited earlier. Being more street smart than Mihawk, Doflamingo let Crocodile go ahead without him, as it was getting darker and the indentured servants working at the store would more suspicious of the boy's presence.

Crocodile left the store with a bottle of gin and cranberry-cherry juice. Doflamingo insisted upon the latter. Still a little lightheaded from the previous drinks he had consumed, Crocodile was in no hurry to get himself drunk. Doflamingo drove them the rest of the way back to Crocodile place and the two of them hurried through the house, racing up to Crocodile room where they began to pick apart the cherished memories that would not be saved.

Doflamingo lifted up his new sunglasses to better make out some of the older figurines that Crocodile had left behind, while Crocodile himself opened up boxes of from his childhood. He had originally planned to throw it all into storage, the attic, or just dumpy it all, but now it all had a purpose.

"The green ranger?" Doflamingo asked, raising the toy up in his hands.

"Death by fire," Crocodile muttered.

"Pirate?"

Crocodile went through the box. "Don't care," he replied.

"I wish you had a nasty ol' cat for us to kill," Doflamingo said. Crocodile lifted up an old picture. He stared at the man and woman, both looking so young, and frowned. He threw it over his shoulder, towards Doflamingo, where the boy just barely caught it.

"Mommy and Daddy then," he heard the blond comment. "Maybe we should go by my place and pick out a few things?"

"How long do you think that will take?" Crocodile asked. He pulled out a few older sketchbooks and began to flip through them, determining whether his older works were worth keeping.

He heard Doflamingo move around. "Maybe too long. We should save some of the fireworks for later."

"Maybe," Crocodile said.

He heard the trash bin fall on its side. "Sorry," Doflamingo muttered. "Didn't mean for that to happen." Crocodile sighed. He stood up and stared at the overall contents of the box. He couldn't think of a time where he'd ever come back here and take these with him. His childhood was a messy, emotional part of this life, and the more he thought about it, the less he cared to have any of these material possessions. He had memories, and those could be easily selective, which meant they would be more than enough for Crocodile. Toys held nothing more than pure nostalgic value, and Crocodile was trying to _start over_.

He raised his hand and gestured Doflamingo to toss his findings into the box.

"What about the gun?" the boy asked.

Crocodile looked over and stared at the boy's glimmering shades lighting up because they were just right under the influence of the window light. In his hands was the handgun. Crocodile walked over and snatched the weapon from Doflamingo.

"That's mine," he said. Simple. He placed it back into the drawer under his desk. Doflamingo made a pout, but he ignored it. Doflamingo eventually went over to the bed, grabbing the small collection of things that would be tossed into the fire, and placed them within the confines of the box.

Doflamingo knelt down, resting his hand on the topmost level of the box, measuring out the contents of old memories. "We need more," he muttered.

"Any ideas?" Crocodile asked.

"Kindle?" Doflamingo said, pointing over to the balled up paper that had failed to been picked up when he had accidentally caused the bin to fall over.

Crocodile stared nervously at the mess. "Sure," he said.

Doflamingo tossed the insides of the bin into the box. Crocodile carefully plucked the few balls that were on the floor, keeping an eye on the curious boy in case he decided to unravel one of them. He didn't. Doflamingo had no reason to go through another person's trash.

"We need more," Doflamingo said again.

"Like what?" Crocodile asked.

"We need to mutilate some trees," Doflamingo said.

"Do you think we should buy some fuel?"

"We'll save that craziness for later," Doflamingo said. "We should cherish a natural explosion before going straight to a chemical fueled one." He smiled. "I do appreciate that kind of thinking though."

Crocodile scratched his head. "I think this is ok," he said.

The boy smiled. "We can do my stuff later?"

He shrugged. "Sure, why not?" It was strange because Crocodile was almost sure that he meant what he had said. "Assuming this doesn't suck though. This could still suck."

Doflamingo looked over at Crocodile. The young man dug his hands into the pockets of his jacket, staring into the colored shades and waiting to see what the boy would do next. He had that stupid little pout on his face.

Crocodile smirked. "Going to critique that comment?"

"This is going to be a lot of fun," Doflamingo said.

"Alcohol and fireworks?" Crocodile asked. He picked up the box and headed over to the door. Doflamingo still had that stupid look on his face, and with those new glasses on his face he looked practically uncanny to Crocodile. The young man sighed. Fine, he'd give it to the boy.

"It'll be fun," he said. He walked out of the room.

Doflamingo called out. "Let me borrow a sweater."

"Fine, fine," Crocodile said as he went down the stairs. Doflamingo quickly caught up with him, again, and followed right behind Crocodile as he struggled to put on a dark sweater. Crocodile couldn't help but notice how the article of clothing fit the growing boy. Doflamingo was still the shorter of the two, but the gap was beginning to fade. It made Crocodile a little nervous.

"What are you staring at?" Doflamingo asked.

"You can see through those things?" Crocodile replied jokingly. He didn't have to think hard on his lie. "Your hair is a mess. You need to remember to cut it."

Doflamingo played with his short locks. "I forgot. I was _distracted_."

"Whatever," he replied, walking past the bothered teen. "Remember to spend your money on more important things, other than alcohol and nasty juice."

"I wanted us to get drunk," Doflamingo said.

"I know, but it's a waste," Crocodile said. He reached for the door but then Doflamingo ran up in front of him. The boy grabbed the box from Crocodile, yanking it and tossing it on the floor.

Crocodile looked down at the spilled mess that the teen had created. He sighed heavily through his nose, feeling a rush of pissed off adrenaline run through his veins. "What. The. Fuck."

Two arms grabbed him by the shoulders. Crocodile knew right then to turn his head and avoid that unwanted physical contact from Doflamingo. Crocodile winced when he felt the boy move inwards, Doflamingo's warm face so close to his.

"Look at me," Doflamingo said.

"No," Crocodile replied, still avoiding eye contact from the boy. "Just settle for the fucking cheek and get the hell out of here."

Doflamingo whimpered. "I don't fucking get it. I don't get why I can't get you to just listen to me!"

Crocodile rolled his eyes, grabbed Doflamingo by the waist and pushed him away. The boy didn't fight back, didn't say a damn thing, just stood there, brushing himself off, breathing heavily and looking down and away from Crocodile.

"You made a promise," Crocodile hissed out.

"I never said a thing," Doflamingo said, slowly raising his head up and smiling at Crocodile. "I just wanted to have fun, maybe get drunk or stoned…"

"And fuck," Crocodile added, frowning at Doflamingo's shaking form.

"Your words, not mine."

"You have no idea how desperate you're coming off," Crocodile muttered. He walked over to the cardboard box and resituated on its bottom, keeping it from spilling anymore of Crocodile's old possessions. "You're a fucking girl…"

Doflamingo chuckled. "Really?" he asked, shaking his head. "Really, you're going to say that, to me? Fuck, Crocodile…do you really think this is only about love?" Crocodile froze in place when the boy spat out the word. He heard a soft thud and looked over to see Doflamingo on his knees, grabbing some of the discarded things and throwing them into the box. He watched Doflamingo smile at him. "It's way more than just love. And I thought I could make you come back if I just offered myself all up to you."

"What on earth are you talking about?"

The boy threw a paper ball at him. "I want what you are," he simply stated before looking away from Crocodile. "I want everything you did, but I want it even more."

"I don't understand."

"You never will," the boy said.

Doflamingo sighed, grabbing another paper ball and tossing it at Crocodile, not watching as it bounced off the man's chest and rolled across the room. Crocodile frantically got up and chased after it, afraid of what might happen if it got lost. But when he picked it up and then turned around he saw Doflamingo staring at a sheet of sketch paper. When did he pick it up, and when did he have the time to unravel it and stare? Crocodile stopped where he was. His hands squeezed the small ball in his hands.

He heard Doflamingo heavily exhale. Crocodile watched the sheet lower and Doflamingo looking up at him, not saying a word. And those sunglasses. He couldn't see past them, and he couldn't really tell in the dark what kind of expression the sixteen-year-old was making, and it bothered him.

"Give it," Crocodile demanded. Doflamingo offered the wrinkled sheet up without saying a thing. The older of the two felt his face burn with shame and embarrassment. Doflamingo had seen thing nobody was supposed to see. He was an idiot. He recrumbled the paper, throwing it roughly in the box, spitting out a few swear words when it bounced out.

He felt arms wrap tightly around his waist. Crocodile jumped, shaking his body and grabbing Doflamingo's thin arms, growing pissed and angry when he felt Doflamingo hold on to him tighter, pressing his body so close Crocodile could feel the boy shaking his head against his back.

"Calm down," Doflamingo yelled. "Just calm down and let me talk!"

"Why?" Crocodile barked.

"Because I really like you," the boy answered. Crocodile responded with a shiver. He didn't want to hear that. His body went tense. Doflamingo still held on to him. "I really like your body, too."

Crocodile's head hurt, but then so did his entire body, and especially his chest.

"You're a fucking asshole," Doflamingo said. "But doesn't really matter to me. I figure I can fix that over time, once I have you for myself…but right now, I mean it still doesn't matter so much to me, because I really do like you, a lot." Crocodile jerked when he felt Doflamingo squeeze him.

"I know you especially don't want to hear this…"

"Then don't say it," Crocodile snapped, fighting his way out of Doflamingo's arms. He yanked one arm away and immediately got up, his strength just barely overpowering Doflamingo's. He grabbed hold of the doorknob, his hot hand trembling as he turned it. He was always angry with the boy, and he was angry now, but he also felt something burning inside of him that wasn't quite anger, but something terribly painful and welcoming to hear. He had wondered what Doflamingo had thought about him a few weeks ago, only because the boy had seen him without clothing, and because it drove him near insanity to think that anything positive could be attributed to _this_ form.

But Doflamingo had just said it. He hadn't given any exact details, but he had said enough for it to affect Crocodile, and already there was a part of him that wanted to know more. Maybe this was why he couldn't move, even though he was a turn of a doorknob away to freedom.

Crocodile moved his head, slowly turning it and looking to see what Doflamingo was up to. He stood quietly, right behind him, his sunglasses keeping Crocodile from being able to correctly determine what sort of emotion the boy might be feeling. It frustrated him, after going so long with just goggles, to not be able to read that boy's mind.

Doflamingo pulled at the sweater. "What?" he nervously asked. "Are you going to leave me again?"

"No," Crocodile answered.

Doflamingo took a step forward. "Are you going to listen to me?" he asked.

"I'm currently debating that," Crocodile replied, staring down at his feet. He wanted to go on the defensive.

Doflamingo leaned against the wall, right in front of Crocodile who was still holding onto the doorknob. He watched the boy look down at his hand. He could see the boy's lips get pulled in, thinking if he should swat the hand away and force Crocodile into another corner of the room. The boy touched his hand, letting his fingers rest on top of the hot, shaking flesh, gently grazing it before grabbing a hold and pulling it away from the doorknob.

"Crocodile," Doflamingo muttered, staring at his newly possessed hand. Crocodile could feel his entire arm stiffen up ad the boy struggled to bring it to his face, opening it up and continuing to molest it with his hungry fingers and lips.

"You really do turn me on," the boy said. The sunglasses slipped down the bridge of Doflamingo's nose, letting just a little bit of blue expose themselves in the dark living room. "I really like it. Everything about your body gets me excited," Doflamingo continued, bringing Crocodile's hands to his lips.

"Why on earth can't we just be fuckbuddies?" the blond asked through Crocodile's hand. The hot breath made the older of the two incredibly nervous. He felt another source of heat gather around a particular part of his body. Doflamingo chuckled. "I mean, we all have to start somewhere, right? I know you liked the sex. I already told you I'm more than willing to give it to you."

"There you go, sounding like a girl again," Crocodile said. "You think you can trade sex for love? That's… _precious_."

Doflamingo stared back, not giving any sign that the words had affected him. Crocodile felt Doflamingo's hands give a squeeze around his left hand, forcing a finger to brush against his pale, thin lips. Crocodile felt his face begin to tickle with heat.

"I already told you," the boy said, "this is more than just love." Crocodile could see Doflamingo's grin begin to form. "Not that it really matters…I know you want love too. I know you crave the attention. Because you can't produce it for yourself. Only someone else can give it to you, and I'm letting you know I'm so ready to provide."

A hand let go of Crocodile's, only to then grab hold of the man's arm. Crocodile let himself get pulled him, away from the door, against the wall with Doflamingo's hands wrapping around him, pulling him so close he had no choice but to face the boy.

"You don't want to hear it, but it's the truth," Doflamingo said. He wrinkled his nose, pushing his sunglasses back up. "I'm attracted to you. You know that, but you can't handle why I might be."

"You like men," Crocodile stated. He felt fingers grip the back of his jacket. "I already know that," he said.

Doflamingo chuckled. "And I think you're fine just the way you are," he said, letting his grin stretch from ear to ear. "All of it," he continued, "looks perfectly fine to me…"

Crocodile's eye twitched. Doflamingo laughed. "Does that really freak you out so much?" he asked. "Does it really seem so crazy to think I might have been right all along? That everything I said a few weeks ago was absolutely true?"

 _Yes_. Crocodile couldn't really think about it any other way. Even with Doflamingo embracing him and speaking to him in that hushed voice, Crocodile still couldn't believe everything he was being told. It made his chest beat and ache to think human desire could work that way, especially in accordance with him. His eyes darted around the living room as he tried to think something up to say. It hurt too much to really say a thing. It was a relief to not have to think about it anymore.

Doflamingo rest his head against Crocodile's chest, and Crocodile let him. His heartbeat began to come to a slow as he let the words sink in while Doflamingo took in deep breaths, smiling affectionately against Crocodile's clothes, pressed hard enough so that the elder could feel it. An arm let go of Crocodile, dropping down next to Crocodile's right hand, hanging innocently for a few seconds. Crocodile was too distracted by Doflamingo's affection, unsure how to approach, that he hardly noticed when he felt Doflamingo's hand grab his right, this time in a slightly different matter. Fingers were locking. When Crocodile realized it, it was far too late. They were holding hands. And when he let this new thought sink in, he wasn't too sure he actually wanted to let go.

"We'll burn everything tonight," Doflamingo finally said.

"Yeah."

"And we might drink something, if we actually feel like it," he heard the boy add. His voice was still muddled. Crocodile had to look down and stare at the tinted shades that gave no real answer.

"I'm going to need a drink, after all of this," he said to himself. But it was loud enough for Doflamingo to hear. He felt his shaky hand getting squeezed by Doflamingo's.

He had the strangest feeling he was going in too blind and unaware of what Doflamingo actually meant. _What did the boy want from him_ , he wondered. The language had been so cryptic. It was too hard and early to say if Doflamingo was actually talking about love but only refrained from using the word so that he wouldn't sound so desperate or childish. Yes, maybe that was it.

Crocodile was no longer being restrained by Doflamingo's embrace. He could breath freely again. But Doflamingo's hand found itself against the man's face, fingers gently guiding Crocodile's face to his own, trying to get the man to make his choice without having to ask.

 _And who was to say this would change anything_? Crocodile asked himself. He was still going to move. And he was still going to do what he had to do in order to further transition, and still meant leaving this state, and Doflamingo. It didn't matter what he did.

 _He likes your body?_ Crocodile was sure he could make the most out of this. He was sure he was in control. Doflamingo was the one who needed him more. And Doflamingo would never say a word about it to anyone. So there was that as well. _He likes it? You? This body?_ It looked like he was still in control of the situation. Doflamingo could say what he liked, but ultimately it was all in his hands. _He likes it._

Crocodile decided he would give Doflamingo what he wanted. He moved in, ahead of Doflamingo's finger, and kissed the boy gently on the lips. It was a test kiss, very quick and gentle, just in case Doflamingo might pull away, but of course he didn't. And the moment when Crocodile did kiss the boy those shaking hands that had guided him so close immediately wrapped themselves around Crocodile, again, this time far more possessively, pushing them together and extending that tester kiss into something more passionate and nothing Crocodile could prepare for.

The hands that had been locked together were now both frantically searching each others bodies. Doflamingo took control of the kiss; sucking, nipping, and starting all over again, trying to get a better taste of the young man, trying to possess and push him to make another move.

Doflamingo whispered to Crocodile. "Fuckbuddies?"

Crocodile stopped and raised a brow. Of course he knew Doflamingo would never be satisfied with _just_ that. He smiled, which Doflamingo took for a _yes_ , but was actually a reaction to the very statement. Did the boy really think he could make a relationship out of this? He was leaving soon!

He was leaving soon…

For some reason this bothered Crocodile. It hadn't before. While Doflamingo laughed and celebrated this unusual reunion, dropping down and undoing Crocodile's belt, followed by the zipper and pants, the young man stood, staring out, the rest of his body on autopilot, as he then realized that _this_ , _this_ was actually starting to affect him.

_He actually liked your body. Somebody doesn't think it's a complete mess._

_And we were about to leave._

Crocodile let out a loud gasp as felt Doflamingo take him into his mouth, his face burning red as he grabbed on to the boy's head, feeling those messy locks that really needed to get cut, the back of his head hurting as it continued to warn him about that pesky time limit. But the thought quickly dissipated as Doflamingo's tongue worked its magic, his humming driving Crocodile to almost completely forget what had been bothering him in the first place. The boy felt nice.

Doflamingo's mouth was hot and wet and felt so good. So much better than hands. So much more intense, and Doflamingo was giving it all away, just for him. All for him. And even though Crocodile could feel something happening deep _inside_ of him, for the first time in a long while, he really didn't fucking care.

 _We were so close_.


	15. Decided Entrapment

**-Part 2-**

**-Then-**

The car was parked right in front of an old park that was suffering the effects of the cold winter weather. Crocodile and Doflamingo jumped out of the car, dashing across the dying grass over to a few smaller trees. Crocodile jumped up, grabbing on to a branch. He swung himself upwards into the tree, quickly resituated himself and began to reach out and rip apart anything that looked like it would burn well. Doflamingo shivered underneath the tree, picking up whatever Crocodile threw down. Eventually Crocodile would look around the branches, finding nothing that wasn't too moist, and dropped back down, helping Doflamingo pick up their collection of kindling and moving back to the car. They repeated this process just a few more times until Crocodile's trunk looked like a miniature forest. Finally, they drove off into the desert.

Always the desert. Even though it wasn't the same as the one they had played in from long before Crocodile couldn't help but notice they always ended up in one.

He exhaled and watched his breath disappear into the air, while carrying a large box filled with a crapful of old memories he couldn't care less about, struggling to make his way over to a small collection of small, abandoned buildings once belonging to a proud race, now left to rot and be used by crack addicts who wouldn't mind the intense heat or cold. Doflamingo caught up and surpassed him since all he had to carry were bundles of sticks. And he could see where he was going, even behind those stupid sunglasses of his.

After a few trips, and letting all the sand pour from their shoes, both boys rested inside of the chosen building, a lighter and the limited starlight being their only sources of light. There was no moon; so much of the kindle distribution was random and based upon how shitty a corner appeared.

They were sure that some kind of wildlife was inside, creeping around and trying to make sense of Crocodile's and Doflamingo's strange game. Every once in a while someone would make out the subtle sound of padded feet on wood, or a light, short creak from the weight distribution on old, tired scaffolds.

"I hope there are no kittens," Doflamingo commented, picking out the fireworks that would be used for tonight. The other half would be saved for later, whenever Doflamingo chose to use them. Crocodile suspected he might not be around when that time came.

"I don't see any cats," Crocodile remarked.

"It smells like cats," Doflamingo muttered. He sounded worried, but Crocodile couldn't care less about the lives of some stupid animals who chose to live in a shithole in the middle of nowhere.

"They'll be fine," Crocodile insisted, waving his hand at the boy, trying to hurry up the selection process. "If there are cats they'll leave. They'll smell the smoke."

Doflamingo threw a large blue rocket over to Crocodile.

The two continued to distribute the belongings until the floor was covered in an even amount of materials. Doflamingo and Crocodile carefully counted out the amount of fireworks they would be using for tonight, and then Doflamingo left with his share. Crocodile waited inside, feeling a little worried as he counted and recounted the fireworks, and then looked over to the entrance of the house.

Doflamingo walked through the front door and stared at the wonderful mess they made.

"How are we doing this?" he asked.

"I'm not sure," Crocodile admitted, staring at all the fireworks and the vast amount of space that separated each one. It wouldn't be possible to light them all without a fuse going off and setting the house ablaze with them in it.

"We'll have to pick the biggest one," Doflamingo suggested. "We'll aim it at another big rocket, and then those two should be enough to set off some kind of chain react of fire and stuff."

Crocodile gave a nod. The reasoning sounded simple enough. They picked up the biggest one they had found, then placed it right in the center, aimed at another rocket placed by a small pile of branches and old sketch books. The two huddled around the door. Crocodile crouched down as he pulled out his lighter and carefully lit the fuse. They exited the building, slamming the door behind them and running as fast as they could, doing their best to fight the sand that tried to sink their feet in..

They heard the first scream before making it to the car. Crocodile couldn't help but stop and look over to see what was happening. He saw a flash of light through a busted window, followed by an explosion of smoke. He continued to back away from the house, but kept his eyes locked on the building, so very curious and excited to see what would happen.

"Hurry up and get over here!" Doflamingo called. Crocodile continued to carefully backwards walk to the car, squinting and trying to make out any changes occurring inside of the decrepit house. More and more smoke exited through the window, but so far no sounds of fireworks going off. No colors or bright flashes.

"Fuck," he said. He turned himself around and stomped through the piles of sand and rocks, over to Doflamingo who was resting on top of the hood, bottles of gin and juice open, a red cup in his hands.

"How disappointing," Doflamingo muttered. He lowered his orange shades and peered over at the target house, also squinting in a desperate attempt to find something. "Well, shit…I wonder what went wrong?"

"Maybe there's too much smoke," Crocodile replied, leaning against the side of the car. He held on to his keys, just in case the house decided to change its mind and burst into flames.

A few seconds went by and suddenly a red cup was rudely shoved into his face. Crocodile took a step back, cursing a bit more, before finally snatching it from Doflamingo. He watched the boy stare approvingly at him, smiling and showing off those perfectly aligned pearly whites, and then made another cup.

"Better luck next time," he heard Doflamingo say. The boy took a sip of his sweet alcoholic beverage and then stared out into the desert. Not the disappointing house, but beyond into the familiar scenery of rocks, cacti, and the occasional wild animal. Crocodile also began to nurse his drink, letting the strong taste of synthetic cherries and cranberries mixed with dry gin soothe his soul. He really wanted that house to burn.

"Maybe one of us should open the door," Crocodile said.

"What are you talking about?"

"Maybe it needs more fresh air," the scarred man suggested. "Too much smoke can choke out a fire."

Doflamingo shrugged. "You going to do it?" he asked. Crocodile nod his head. The boy looked over at the house and sighed. "Fine,' he said. "Don't kill yourself."

"Don't be stupid," Crocodile remarked. He went over to the passenger side of the car and opened the door, searching through the messy confines before pulling out a few old, used napkins. He would need something to restart the flame. Crocodile looked into his half-filled cup and lifted it up to his lips, downing it all in just a few gulps. He wiped his face, feeling a little lightheaded. He spotted Doflamingo staring at him and offered the cup to the boy.

"I need a little bit of gin," he said. He blinked a few times. On an empty stomach the mixed drink could immediately be felt. "Just enough to wet the napkins."

Doflamingo jumped off the car. Crocodile blinked a few more times, letting his eyes readjust while Doflamingo let a bit of the drink pout into the cup. Crocodile stuffed a few of the napkins into the bottom, then spread out the evenly across the top, making sure the upper napkins didn't absorb too much liquid.

He walked over to the house, his scar feeling the heat and his nose and eyes burning because of all the smoke. When he was close enough he held in his breath and opened the front door, shutting his eyes nice and tight when he was blasted with a wall of smoke. He waited a few seconds until it died down and then pulled out his lighter once more, setting the top napkin ablaze before throwing it into the house. He ran off, leaving the door open, hurrying over to the car and Doflamingo.

"Hey, hey! I see something," Doflamingo said, pointing a finger over in the direction of the house. Crocodile stopped and could see a small flame gathering around the entrance of the house. A small grin appeared. It had taken longer than expected, but he would get his show. "Hurry up, Croco!" he heard Doflamingo whine.

"Calm down," Crocodile groaned back. He walked over, past Doflamingo and into the driver seat. Although had been in quite a hurry before, the running did nothing to quell the cold weather. They were in the middle of a desert, in the middle of the night, and in winter. Crocodile held on to himself as he watched Doflamingo move to the side, entering through the passengers half.

Doflamingo grinned. "Good thinking," he said. He sipped his cup while sharing out into the desert, now light up with a gigantic lantern in the middle.

"I wonder how long it will take for it to get big enough?"

"Better be soon," Crocodile muttered. "It's getting too fucking cold."

Doflamingo chuckled. "A few more cups and you'll feel fine."

"I need food," Crocodile complained. The house began to crackle and pop with noises. The two rolled down their window just far enough to get the full experience, listening to strange growling noises echo across the dark scenery.

"When did you last east?"

"I snacked around eleven," Crocodile replied. "And the alcohol's starting to make me sick now."

The roof began to cave in and the two watched morbidly as they spotted solid matter go down with the top of the house. They couldn't tell if it had been bodies of animals or what, but both Doflamingo and Crocodile couldn't tear their eyes away when they noticed all sorts of strange shapes beginning to fly out from the top, some racing about into other houses, while other forms struggled in the clouds of smoke. One long trail of light burst through the flames, flying upwards into the sky. Doflamingo leaned out of his seat, looking up at the window, trying to see where the firework had gone. They never got the show.

"How much time do we have before we're limited to just Denny's?" Doflamingo asked, slurring the final word for a second too long.

"Maybe an hour, and hour and a half at most," Crocodile replied. Even from the distance and safety of the car he could sort of feel the warmth of the fire hitting his face. He looked over and could see Doflamingo's face glowing from the light of the fire. By now the entire building was engulfed. So far no other rockets had shot up. Overall, a little disappointing, but Crocodile couldn't complain. He had an idea and he went with it. The day didn't completely suck.

"What do you think?"

Crocodile rested against his seat. "I don't know," he said. "I guess I was hoping for a little more. Like with the giant rat."

"Maybe next time we'll find ourselves a dog or cat," Doflamingo said, reaching out and patting Crocodile on the shoulder. Crocodile continued to watch the gigantic flames eat up the building and all his old childhood possessions. He felt Doflamingo rest the hand on the shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze, and he supposed the day had been good.

"We need to leave soon," Doflamingo said.

"You really think so?"

"I mean, I know we're close to a reservation, and police have better things to do than go out and listen to some non-whites complain over a fire...but still," Doflamingo said, moving out of his seat and closer to Crocodile, "I really don't want you to get in trouble."

"A few more minutes," Crocodile replied, pushing the boy away with his hand.

This was new. Boyfriend new. That was what Doflamingo sort of was now, at least in the blond's eyes. Even after pushing Doflamingo out of his view, Crocodile could still feel his presence all over him, he could detect the warmth of the boy's hand reaching out and touching his right hand, grabbing it and affectionately holding on to it.

The walls fell apart, and now all that was left was a huge pile of woods and burnt things. There was nothing left that resembled the house he and Doflamingo had intruded upon earlier. Bits of flame flew away and disappeared into the air. Now Crocodile was starting to get bored.

"Alright," he said, grabbing his keys and struggling to stuff them into the ignition. He would have given Doflamingo the keys, but it looked like the teen was on his second serving of the sweet, mixed drink.

The car swerved, making a sharp turn around and kicking up a nice storm of sand as Crocodile accelerated out of the desert. The ride was fast, uncomfortable, and bumpy. Doflamingo was getting visibly drunk and seemed to have no problem placing the cup crookedly inside of the cup holder, spilling some reddish liquid and chuckling as it splashed all over the sweater he was borrowing. Crocodile could feel the air grow hot and sticky despite the fact that he had just finished complaining about it having been too cold for him.

"C-Crocodile?" Doflamingo did not sound too good. Crocodile knew it was the driving. He was driving on an empty stomach recently filled with corn syrup and gin. He could barely see where he was going. He kept hitting rocks and now he could make out Doflamingo holding on to his stomach.

"You better not throw up," Crocodile warned. He stared out, trying to make the best of the limited view, catching a glimpse of the main highway that would lead them back to civilization. "We're almost there."

"That's not it!" Doflamingo proclaimed. Even in the darkness of the car Crocodile could see the boy turning red from overconsumption. Or was it something else? Maybe the boy was just blushing? Crocodile could feel his own face burn after the thought settled.

"What is it?" he asked, making sure to keep his eyes only on the road. He wasn't used to this sort of thing. These feelings made him nervous. He felt hotter than he should, and he had an inkling that the air conditioner would do little to cure it.

"W-when are you going t-to leave?" the boy slurred, his head sticking out enough for Crocodile to feel uncomfortable.

"I don't know," he lied.

The boy rested back into the passenger seat, slowly nodding his head. His sunglasses continued to slip down his warm face. Crocodile went down the long highway, thinking up something nice to say.

"The sunglasses fit you," he said, raising his right hand and gesturing towards the boy's face. His eyes were on the road.

Doflamingo chuckled. "I'm old enough to quit school, you know?" He didn't stutter a word. Crocodile gripped on to the steering wheel, letting the deadly combination of words sink in and strangle his throat, tightening around him until he remembered he had to breathe.

"Why quit?" he finally asked.

"T-there's nothing for me to really get from it," Doflamingo answered. "I've already missed so much. And… it's not like I need a high school diploma in order to make money."

As true as Doflamingo was, and as prepared and confident he sounded, Crocodile couldn't help but want to immediately disagree. He hated school himself. He had graduated with nothing learned; only that he could get away with all sorts of things he put his mind to it. Doflamingo had come up with a series of things to do with himself. Crocodile could remember every little half-baked idea that the blond had come up with the past few years, so he knew full well that Doflamingo could quit right now and be all right in the long term so long as he applied himself.

"You should think hard about what you plan to do with yourself," Crocodile said, staring out into the road. They were just a few minutes away from salvation. Perhaps the topic could be changed.

"I kn-know what I want," the boy muttered.

"Do you, really?"

"I want to be powerful," Doflamingo said. Silence. Crocodile could see the light of the city just ahead. It no longer mattered. The word remained inside of his mind. Doflamingo had said everything he needed to know.

* * *

**-Now-**

Doflamingo and Baby 5 had snuck around the neighborhood and had situated themselves right behind the target house. It was nice and quiet, and luckily for the two of them most people were either busy inside, or simply had not noticed their presence. Doflamingo was grateful for such neglectful neighbors.

"Don't you think I should have the gun? "Baby 5 asked, pointing at the handgun that Doflamingo practically cradled in his possession.

Doflamingo stared at the weapon in his hands, and then at Baby 5, then back at the weapon. "Have you ever killed a man before?" he asked her in a whispered voice. She shook her head, but then mentioned her previous job as a stripper, and what it all entailed. Doflamingo thought about it for a moment, then pointed at the gun. "Can you kill a man?" he asked her. She confidently gave him a nod. Doflamingo sighed, looking down at his only means of defense, and considered his chances with it compared to without it.

He wasn't too big on the latter. "Next time," he said. Baby 5 pouted, but got over it the moment Doflamingo pointed at the fence.

"Remember what I told you," he whispered to her. She gave another nod, staring at the high fence with a small, cute smile on her face. She took a deep breath. "Wait for the text," he warned her as she jumped and grabbed on to the top, holding on frantically with her delicate thin fingers.

"We can't afford to screw this up," Doflamingo muttered. He rested himself against the fence, folding his arms as he patiently waited for the phone in his pocket to vibrate. Baby 5 continued to hold on to the fence, her legs kicking up every once in awhile.

"I wonder what will happen if we do?" Baby asked aloud. Doflamingo looked up and pinched her arm, causing her to drop and land roughly on the floor. She whined and began rubbing her rear end and picking herself back up, facing her boss with a red face. "That was really mean!" she proclaimed, wiping her face of any stray tears.

"Don't say such stupid things," Doflamingo retorted. "You know we're in Whitebeard territory…and now you're talking about us getting caught? Don't be so stupid and maybe I'll stop myself from treating you like a child."

The phone went off. Doflamingo peered down at his cellphone, surprised that he was getting a call right at this moment.

Baby 5 gasped. "The signal!" she proclaimed, slapping her hands on the sides of her face in surprise. She jumped in place before pointing at Doflamingo, then over at the fence. "This is it, I'm so nervous!"

Doflamingo pulled out his phone. It _was_ Pica who was calling him. He was sure he had mentioned to text, not call him, but then things never really did turn out the exact way they're supposed to be. Doflamingo had been rather quick giving out the details. He crammed the phone into his pants and grabbed Baby 5 by the waist, hoisting her back up onto the fence, giving her a moment to get a leg over into the other side before gently pushing her across. Luckily she made no sounds, other than a grunt from the impact. He smiled. He was actually feeling quite excited about this. Grasping the handgun, he jumped up, grabbing the top of the fence and climb his way up.

Baby 5 was crouching below. There was a window right in front of Doflamingo's landing spot. He jumped back down, letting himself land roughly because he was too tall to get away with hiding. He remained on his stomach, looking up at Baby 5 who was staring up through the window. He slid his hands across the moist lawn, letting his gun rest in front of him.

He swallowed. This neighborhood was making him sick to his stomach. "What do you see?" he asked her.

"Someone is moving around," she answered. She raised her head up a bit. "The curtains make it hard to see," she added.

"Male or female?" Doflamingo calmly asked. Time was limited. He couldn't rush his words. He knew he could rely on Pica to guide and keep control of the situation o the other side of the house.

"Thin in frame…definitely not the guy I saw before," Baby 5 replied. She further lowered herself down so that she was resting on her stomach. She smiled at Doflamingo. "We have to take down the girl…"

"No," Doflamingo said, "we need to keep her alive until we get my precious cargo back." He lifted his free hand up and shook it at Baby 5. "We're going up against a woman. Odds are she's gonna be worth something to somebody…maybe the boss. We want to leave her as intact as possible, maybe even use her as a hostage against the big guy you saw before."

"So you want me to capture her?" Baby 5 asked. She sounded way too chipper, considering the situation, but Doflamingo ignored it.

"Bruise the skin, break the leg," Doflamingo said in a hushed voice. He could feel his heart beginning to beat quickly. He was sure explaining this was taking too much time. "Whatever you do though, don't kill her."

"Ok," Baby 5 said. "I can definitely do this!"

Doflamingo smiled at the girl. He felt his phone go off again, causing him to turn away from her and look down his leg to see what was going on. He heard Baby 5 make her move, without the given order, jumping up from the grass and running towards the door. Doflamingo pulled out his phone, feeling a grave and heavy feeling overcome him when he saw Pica's number glowing across the screen.

"Baby," He called out. He winced when he heard her kick open the door. It was an impressive feat, but in no way changed the fact that something was up, a conflicting change that was now going to complicate things, especially now that Baby 5 had announced their presence.

"Fuck," Doflamingo groaned. He stuffed his phone back into his pants, jumping back into standing position. Already he could hear something going on inside. It was a fight. He heard a loud grunt when the sound of contact was made. Doflamingo frowned as he held the gun tightly in his hands, sneaking past the window and leaning against the busted opening to the back of the house.

He turned the corner, gun pointed at the source of the sound, a vein popping across his temple when he saw a man standing in front of him, grabbing hold of Baby 5 with a gun pointed at her head. Doflamingo scowled, lowering his gaze as he watched the oddly dressed man break a smile, his heavily adorned makeup adding certain eeriness to it all.

"A third member," Doflamingo grumbled. So, that was what Pica had called him about. Doflamingo wished he had taken the time to answer that call. Probably would have saved him a great deal of hurt.

"Well, wellll," the man said. His voice was incredibly obnoxious; Doflamingo couldn't help but snicker at it. "See this, Miss All-Sunday?" the man called over to the end of the small living room, "we have ourselves some lost birds!" He gripped Baby 5 tightly, laughing loudly when she let out a small whine. Doflamingo really wished he had given her the gun now, because the only thing he could do at this point with it was drop it and hope the man wouldn't blow her brains out.

"How interesting." Doflamingo paled, lowering his arms as the huge, black figure Pica and the other's had described before made his appearance known. "I wonder if this has anything to do with the girl's you've picked up?"

"I'm certain it is," a cool voice replied. From behind the man a tall, slim woman appeared, dressed in the same extravagant attire that Gladius had mentioned before. She walked passed the large man, her high heels clicking softly against the floor. She stopped right in front of the lowered gun, not afraid that it was pointed at her exposed legs.

"Are you looking for something?" she asked him. Her deep blue eyes pissed him of to no end. He refused to believe this was happening to him. It was three against one, and Doflamingo knew that if he dared to use the gun he'd end up dead.

"The drugs, I bet!" the loud man laughed. Baby 5 struggled, tying to free herself from his grasp, but the slim man proved to be too quick, as well as flexible, for her to get away from. "Now, now," he hissed, "I reaaaallly don't want to hurt you, deary!"

"The boss will not like this," the heavily built man grumbled.

They had used the word drugs. Not women, but drugs. Doflamingo knew right away that the women were probably long dead now, their precious cargo long since harvested from their remains. However, there was still some hope that his product was still in the house. Oh, but then he'd have to get them…and right now he was surrounded.

This was not an ideal situation. Doflamingo held on to his gun, keeping it raised enough for him to make a final move. With his eyes covered by his shades, he made a quick glimpse around the room, trying to spot any signs of escape. As he made a second or third look around, he noticed some movement coming from the side window. Something pointy. Doflamingo swallowed, realizing that a rescue crew could very well be around the corner, so long as he gave them enough time for them to hurry inside. He looked at Baby 5, watching her shake in the strange man's grasp. He really should have given her the gun.

Doflamingo forced a smile. "He might," he said, chuckling a bit at the very end. "After all, it's my product… _Miss_? Miss All-Sunday?"

" _You made_ _that_?" she asked, taking another step forward. Her confidence was surprising. Doflamingo grew worried. She could very well be working under Whitebeard with that sort of attitude. "I wonder," she said, reaching out and snatching the gun from Doflamingo's hands, "if that's really true or not."

"He still broke iiinnn!"

"Mr. 2 is right," the other man growled. "He knows this place exists…we can't let him get out." He took a gigantic step over to the man called Mr. 2 placing his large hand over Baby 5 and covering her entire face. Doflamingo felt his stomach do a flip when he watched the girl's legs begin to shake frantically.

"Please don't," he said, turning and looking over at Miss All-Sunday's deviant smile. "Shoot her if you like, but don't fucking suffocate the girl. She's new at this sort of thing, you know?"

Miss All-Sunday frowned. "Are you serious?" she asked him. He watched her raise her arm up, his gun in her hands, pointing right at the center of Baby's chest. Doflamingo kept himself still. He forbade himself to shake, even just a little bit. And he wanted nothing more than to shake. This was not good, not at all, and he could very well tell by the woman's cold expression that killing Baby 5 would be easy.

"Ooh, not the breasts," Doflamingo whined, shaking his head. He could see the three all making faces at his displeasure. Doflamingo kept his ruse, hoping that Pica would make his move soon. "I really like those…could you aim higher?"

"Disgusting," Miss All-Sunday muttered. Her finger was all over the trigger.

A small tapping sound was heard against the window. Doflamingo's eyes went wide when his eyes turned to the far right, spotting a plain hand smack itself against the corner of the window.

He shook his head. "You've got to–"

Miss All-Sunday pointed the gun at Doflamingo. Luckily for him, at that very same moment, Mr. 2 pointed his gun at the window. Miss All Sunday and the larger man both looked over at Mr. 2, the woman frowning while he kept his large smile, the man reaching out and trying to stop him as he pulled the trigger and shot the window, hitting the palm of the hand.

Doflamingo heard Gladius swear and curse. "Got him!" Mr. 2 laughed. But his victory was short lived. Doflamingo watched Baby 5 take advantage of the man's distraction. She raised her leg upwards.

"Mr. 1," Miss All-Sunday yelled. The man grabbed Baby 5 by the hair, but she continued to retaliate despite the pain, kicking Mr. 2 in the leg. He yelped. He didn't let her go, but instead accidently pulled the trigger to the gun again, shooting the wall. Doflamingo watched the woman turn her head for just a second. He grabbed her, wrapping his arm around her neck, his other trying to grab the gun that was in her hands.

Pica burst into the room. Doflamingo raised his leg up, trying to kick the woman's leg and knock her off balance. The gun was just out of his grasp. He had no idea what else was going on as he and the girl struggled. He could hear Pica yell some words out. He could hear everyone else screaming and raving about, all expect that Sunday girl.

He grabbed the barrel of the gun. She jammed her shoulder into his stomach. Doflamingo held in his cough, gagging silently as he tried to yank the gun from her. He caught a glimpse of Pica passing by with Baby 5 in his arms, her face covered in blood.

Doflamingo had to think. Baby 5 and Gladius were out of commission, and he still didn't have his drugs back. He could run right now, save himself from this monumental screw up, and hide and wait for the rest of his executives to come up. Vergo was on his way to Japan, and there was hope that Kaido wouldn't make things miserable. This woman could be working for Whitebeard, and the last thing he wanted was another warlord breathing down his back. Doflamingo could let the barrel go right now, push the woman forward, and then make a made run for the door. He'd be ok. He'd live to see another day.

But then he wouldn't have his product. All the hard work he had done, and it would be all for naught. And even if he did run, he would have to live with the fact that he had failed, failed so miserably, and would spend the rest of his days reliving the failure, over and over again. Doflamingo knew that he couldn't be killed at this point, not when three of his subordinates knew where to find these people. If the drugs were here, then Doflamingo could reckon this house was a trading post, maybe even a hideout. They wouldn't have time to move all their equipment before the cops were called. And such a waste of money! And a really nice house! There was time for clean up though. Doflamingo could be moved around, hidden. They would clean up their mess, keep him alive for a few hours, maybe a few days, plenty of time for his other executives to come over, plan something out and rescue him, and finally retrieve his drugs.

Goddamn that fucking pride of his. Doflamingo purposely let his hands slip off of the barrel. He watched Pica turn, eyes wide in disbelief, not understanding how the blond could let such a mistake take place. Doflamingo kept his composure, quickly mouthing out the word "go" to Pica, letting Miss All-Sunday turn around, kneeing him between the legs and smacking the handgun across his head. He dropped to the floor, holding himself and his breath. It fucking hurt.

"They're escaping!" Mr. 2 yelled, pointing the handgun out at the three figures that Doflamingo could barely make out. His vision was blurry, and the intense pain that was spreading across his body made it impossible for him to focus much on anything else.

"Don't shoot," Mr. 1 said. "We cannot afford to attract anymore attention!"

"B-but they knoooowww," Mr. 2 whined. Doflamingo hissed out a sigh. Breathing was becoming difficult. His sunglasses fell off his moist face and he could see the man's outfit was covered in blood. Hopefully it was more his than Baby's. Mr. 2 looked over to Miss All-Sunday, his large hand covered his poorly decorated face. "We need to do something about all of this…Mr. 0 will not like this one bit, no he won't!"

"We need to stow him away, find out where he's from," Mr. 1 said. "If he's really the producer then odds are they'll be back."

The bloodied up Mr. 2 groaned. "We need to kill him now!"

Miss All-Sunday dropped down to a squat. Still holding the gun, she grabbed Doflamingo by the hair, forcing him to look up at with his already pained expression. She smiled coldly at him. "Where did they go?" she asked him.

His body shook in agony as he brought himself to smile. "I…am…going…to…" Doflamingo paused, stopping his breathing as the urge to gag came up. Miss All-Sunday sighed, raising the gun up and pressing it against Doflamingo's head. He chuckled. It was all so familiar to him, except now he couldn't fight back because the stupid bitch decided to kick him where it counted most.

"Shoot…you...right up…your…cunt," Doflamingo finally huffed out the final words.

He watched her produce a small chuckle. She actually removed the gun from his head, no longer finding him a threat. "Of course you will," she said, bringing herself back up and walking away from Doflamingo.

"Take him downstairs," she ordered the two men. "And clean up all of this! Mr. 0 will be back any day now…" For the first time Doflamingo noticed that Miss All-Sunday didn't sound as calm as she had when she spoke with him.

He wondered why.

* * *

**-Then-**

Doflamingo never said a thing about spending the night because Crocodile would have mentioned that he had school in the morning, and then they would only start to argue. Crocodile was tired, his stomach filled up with fats and oils that made him feel so lethargic and unwilling to deal with the boy. He just drove back home, taking Doflamingo with him, not saying a goddamn thing as Doflamingo went back on autopilot, philosophizing up new ways to approach their boring little world, neither of them acting as though anything had really changed today. By the time Crocodile had parked he actually felt pretty good about the situation, because it had felt so _normal_.

It wasn't until Crocodile was back in his room, looking at the piles of organized, folded clothes on the floor, did he remember what had bothered him just hours before.

He watched Doflamingo make off to the bathroom, leaving him time to undress and think about this unsettling feeling. Of course Doflamingo wanted to go with him, that was an easy given. And Doflamingo said he had wanted power. This made so much sense it hurt to think that Crocodile was even remotely surprised when it had been said in the first place. What he didn't quite understand were his feelings regarding all of this.

This was not the first time that had this conversation. Crocodile was piecing it together, replacing pants with thinner, looser fitting garments, while trying to remember Doflamingo's exact words when he had won him over a few hours ago. Doflamingo said he wouldn't understand some of his reasoning. He said it wasn't only about love, but something else, and that something had been redacted from the entire conversation. And now Crocodile could feel it, the very way Doflamingo had uttered that word, _power._ What was it that made Crocodile so agitated, attempting to tie it with him, to try to connect it with the relationship that Doflamingo desperately wanted to make.

Crocodile made his way to the bathroom, passing by Doflamingo along the way. The boy said or did nothing out of the ordinary, only looking at Crocodile with the same amount of eagerness that he usually carried when he dared to go shirtless. He washed his face and brushed his teeth, the latter being done with so much care that it took forever for Crocodile to finish. Or maybe he was just stalling.

But when he got back into the small room he saw that Doflamingo was already half-asleep in bed, taking more than his fair share of blankets, curled comfortably on his side. He could see that the boy was still wearing a shirt. Based upon the boy's exhausted expression, he doubted Doflamingo was in the mood to have it removed by his hands.

 _No sex,_ Crocodile thought to himself. He couldn't make out what he was feeling when he thought it up. He supposed he was just relieved.

Crocodile got into the bed, gently at first because he was still a little nervous and wasn't sure what Doflamingo might be up to. But then he head Doflamingo utter a half-growl, half-whine when he pulled at the covers, and then Crocodile realized that absolutely nothing would happen to him, so he went back to his usual self, shoving Doflamingo to just one side of the bed so that he could have his fair share. He took his half of the bed covers and blankets and turned himself around, his back to Doflamingo.

"Goodnight," he said. He closed his eyes and counted to ten, then twenty, and then he opened his eyes again as he brought himself to wonder about Doflamingo's comment. What was this power? How was that boy going to obtain it? What did it all have to do with him?

Crocodile sniffed. Perhaps he was looking too deep. This was a sixteen year old, not some complicated mind, and although Doflamingo talked the big talk, he had hardly ever seen an instance where it ever amounted to anything. Odds were the boy simply didn't want to lose him, not after "winning" him after such a long wait.

"G'night," he heard Doflamingo say.

Crocodile shook in the covers. How on earth was he supposed to enjoy _all of this_ if he was so busy trying to frame Doflamingo for a crime that he had no evidence for? A crime that, even if it was to exist, Doflamingo had not even committed yet?

Crocodile sighed. He looked over his shoulder, spotting the shape of messy blond hair. He told himself that he was only doing this because Doflamingo had been so _giving,_ and it was the least he could do. Crocodile scolded himself as he turned himself around, now facing Doflamingo. He grabbed on to his precious blanket, making sure he was covered enough.

Doflamingo stared at him with tired, blue eyes. Enough of his body was covered for Crocodile to feel less bothered. The eyes were pretty enough for him to almost think of them as feminine, and that sort of made things even better for him. They were blue, and they were lidded too, because Doflamingo was still tipsy and had overfed himself, and Crocodile liked that he could compare them to a woman's. It felt non-threatening.

The eyes lit up.

"What?" Crocodile muttered. He lowered his face into the sheets, letting more than half his face get engulfed. Doflamingo said nothing, only nudging himself close to Crocodile. The raven-haired man was silent and let Doflamingo get closer until he could feel their bodies touching. He did freeze up a little when Doflamingo began to cuddle, his arm wrapping itself around Crocodile; his face getting buried right next to his. Crocodile moved on to his back, because all this touching, no matter how innocent it was, was something he didn't really know how to respond to, and Doflamingo followed, resting his head on top of young man's chest.

Crocodile stared up into the ceiling, counting all the defects as he adjusted himself. Doflamingo had stopped moving and was now resting on top of him, like there was nothing wrong with that. _How?_

He felt Doflamingo's head move. "Are you alright?" the boy asked.

Crocodile's mouth opened. He knew he would be leaving soon. He told himself over and over again this was all temporary. But then, if it really bothered him, why agree to it in the first place? And Doflamingo was warm and surprisingly soft for someone who was built like a stick, and every time he touched him now only good feelings arose…so what was really bothering him?

"I don't know," he answered.

Doflamingo head moved again. "Is this too much for the first night?"

Crocodile sighed. "I'm not…sure?" A hand moved across the sheets, resting itself on the young man's side.

"You're warm," Doflamingo calmly announced. Crocodile nod his head, still looking up, feeling his body heat up from the compliment.

"I really like this," Doflamingo added. Crocodile raised his head, looking at the boy's crown, watching Doflamingo move his head and stare right back at him. "You feel nice…I really want to give it a go." A small smile appeared on his face. "If you don't like it we can sleep another way…"

Doflamingo was being more than fair, so Crocodile gave a nod. He thought he'd just rest his head against the pillow and give up for the night, but instead he kept staring at the boy, his mind locked on every word Doflamingo had said, how terribly kind it had all been, and how very unlike Doflamingo it was to even act like that. And then those two blue eyes went back to being lidded again, and Crocodile eased up, not freaking out one bit as Doflamingo pulled himself closer, letting his lips hover just above Crocodile's.

It wasn't anything he couldn't handle. He felt the boy's lips against his own, and it only lasted for about a second before Doflamingo ended, not Crocodile. But just as he was about to return back to his original position, Crocodile latched onto the boy, embracing him, refusing to make a comment as he kept his arms loosely wrapped around Doflamingo, not releasing until he knew the boy was nearing sleep.

He let go of Doflamingo. "Are you alright?" he heard the boy whisper. The breathing was nice and slow.

Crocodile frowned. "I'm not sure," he admitted.

"This is alright?" Doflamingo asked into the man's neck.

"I guess," Crocodile answered. He somehow knew Doflamingo was smiling. God, he hoped he wasn't feeding that boy's ego.

"That's good," Doflamingo practically cooed out. Crocodile privately mourned the loss of his assumed heterosexuality in silence; feeling an overwhelming sadness overcome him as he felt his left hand betray him, once again resting itself on top of Doflamingo, hand on blond locks, gently petting the boy to sleep and feeling a strange sense of comfort from the thought.

_You're supposed to be leaving._

It made him all the more sad to think that he was in a position of conflict, one that he had willingly entered. He held in his breath, fighting back the pain in his lower throat, not giving any sign that he was upset because Doflamingo had fucking won, leaving him cornered without any real idea of what to so with himself.

Instead, he kept on petting until he passed out.


	16. Some Piece of Mind

**-Part 2-**

**-Now-**

And _of course_ there was a basement.

Doflamingo flared his nostrils, inhaling dry air mixed with the heavy scent of something coppery. He figured it had to be blood. Doflamingo blinked, staring frustratingly into dark cloth, exhaling deeply when he reminded himself that, even with the adjustments to the pupils, little would be seen in the first place. And what did his current setting matter anyways? There was only one real way out of a basement, and that was through the stairs.

It was the smell of blood that made him a little nervous. Doflamingo told himself that the blindfold was doing him a favor; fear of the unknown would be saving him from the knowledge that something horrible might lay just a few feet away. The imagination taunted him, but knowing how he might actually die could be far worse. Not that he _would_ die. The fact that he was sitting in a chair instead of splattered all over the kitchen floor was a sign that there was some hope for him. Even better were the sounds coming from upstairs. That girl was still moving around, no doubt trying to clean up the mess he had made time ago. _How much longer till his friends arrived?_ No, the girl was still moving around, still trying to clean up the broken glass, make up a story for the costly repairs so that her boss might now wreak havoc upon her.

He lowered his head, desperate to stretch his stiffening neck. Being bound was simply ridiculous. How was anyone supposed to pass out in these uncomfortable conditions, or was that the point? Doflamingo had not seen enough crime movies to know. His nose flared again and this time he was sure he could smell something sour. Not his nausea, but it smelled something like stomach insides. Doflamingo gave up on comfort and rested the back of his head against the chair frame, too tried to care as he listened to the sounds of movement upstairs.

He wondered when Vergo would call. The man was probably already on his way to meet Kaido. Would Pica call Diamante and Trebol to let them know things had gone sour on his side? Yes, they would most certainly do that…but when would they risk calling Vergo? Doflamingo would have loved to hear his phone ring, for Vergo to be on the other line, for him to speak and try to talk with that woman and make some kind of miracle trade for his life. Vergo was his best subordinate. The man would know what to do.

Doflamingo blinked again, feeling unusually calm. Maybe his body had depleted the day's stores of adrenaline. Either way the smell wasn't making him so anxious anymore. The chair he sat in was still stiff and uncomfortable as hell, but at least he no longer wanted to vomit. Mouth was still dry.

…Ah, but they had hardly any savings left now? Doflamingo huffed, letting some air escape through his dry mouth. All of that money he was hoping to use to start up his body business, to launch his career nice and deep into the black market; all of it was gone now. One little fuckup and suddenly all his hard work had been snatched away from him. So much money! Doflamingo closed his eyes tight, fighting the growing anger burning deep in his chest. But it was so hard to not yell and scream. He was trapped in a basement, bound and blindfolded, most of earnings used just so Vergo could travel halfway across the world in order to save him and some idiot lackeys from screwing up the first big trade. And now things had fucked up again, and this time it didn't look like he had anything to offer up.

It was quiet upstairs. Doflamingo looked upwards at the ceiling, seeing nothing beyond darkness, only detecting that the sounds above had drastically decreased. He stared into his blindfold. He waited for those three to make some sounds. He needed to know they were still in panic.

What…what if he didn't come out of this alive? Doflamingo had been contemplating the thought since Caesar had screwed them all over. Once again that thought was rearing its ugly head. He could very well be executed in this room. His friends could end up dead as a result of his misgivings.

He'd never get to sell off all those beautiful men and women. It was a thought that brought intense pain to Doflamingo. He so desperately wanted to watch the privileged hearts around him suffer in agony, their humanity in constant torment as he made it his goal to achieve perfect dehumanization.

He frowned. And there would never be a reunion with Crocodile. Doflamingo had doubted the man's existence for a while. It had been more than fives years now since he had last seen the man, and that had not been a fond memory in itself. All he had were the drunken slurred words of Mihawk, words growing stale after more than two years. Even if he had managed to find his place within the body market, even if his name spread across the globe, there was a good chance it would never reach Crocodile's ears, assuming he _wasn't_ a dead man. _You can't capture a dead man._

And now his leg was itching. God-fucking-dammit. He was probably going to die, and he couldn't even scratch the back of his leg.

The longer time past, the more likely Crocodile wasn't merely hiding in the shadows.

The longer time past, the more likely that silence upstairs would result in his demise.

Doflamingo blinked. He realized that he was beginning to sweat. And the smell of the air was certainly becoming thicker with something putrid, and his blindfold was collecting it all, irritating his eyes and moist skin.

What would happen if Kaido rejected Vergo's offering? It wouldn't really matter at this point, with things already so far downhill; hell would have to be the next stop.

He let out a nervous, almost hysterical chuckle. What would happen if, by some miracle–not related to Vergo simply buying Doflamingo out of this situation–things went better than expected, and he left all of this unscathed, not counting the bruised balls and a bullet to the hand? How funny would it be to one day tell all of this to Crocodile? Because in _this_ scenario all things go better than expected, so finding the man and buying his way back into the man's life would be reasonable. What a funny story this would have been. And he could already envision his reaction to it all; scolding him for his overconfidence, pointing out every mistake he had made since deciding to branch out his business.

 _What a terrible adult you make_ , Doflamingo thought to himself as the story played out in his mind, his chest aching as bad as his legs and stiff back. _How could you not keep a tighter leash on your cook? How could you let word get around to powerful pirates? And why on earth would you send two lackeys down to Mexico? That's Whitebeard territory, you fool. You should have known better than to send two newbies into drug dealing territory, and now you're probably going to piss off another powerful warlord. And why don't you ever check your stupid phone? How can you be so inefficient as to not check your own goddamn signal?_

"Fufufu," Doflamingo bitterly laughed. "I'm such a rookie. Making those stupid mistakes."

 _Rookie mistakes lead to big consequences._ And the thought was spoken with his own voice. Doflamingo's head sank as he guessed out the length of silence that had been stretching since his miniscule breakdown. There was that smell again. And why was it so uncomfortably warm down here? When would Vergo call, if at all? Doflamingo watched all the thoughts swarm in front of him, his blindfold a canvas for the words to turn white and taunt him. He was starting to feel a little sick.

He should have kept an eye on Caesar. He should have been the one to go down and make the deal with Kaido. He should have known better than to make such mistakes, after all those years of mourning and blaming himself for the last!

* * *

**-Then-**

Inside of a decrepit Tower Records, Crocodile stared frustratingly at the newly contained rows of brand new CDs. Everything was covered in something. Pleasure was becoming more of a privilege, and the young man was having a very hard time trying to figure a way take the CDs and free them from their difficult, plastic confinements without getting caught.

"You saw Hancock, right?"

Crocodile ignored the snide voice from behind him as he walked away from the aisle of new releases, deciding to try his luck for an area that might contain fewer onlookers. He could hear the blond follow him, still chatting away, always obviously to the issues that bothered him.

"When the fuck did she get double-dees?" Doflamingo complained. Crocodile picked up a CD, one lacking the added annoying concealment with the blasted red or yellow tag. He eyed it carefully, not too willing to make it his own, letting his mind picture the thing trapped behind another layer plastic. He wanted something nice before he left. All the CDs that were covered in tags were cheap or not flavorful to the young man's ears. He wanted something nice.

"Don't you think she's hot?" He heard Doflamingo asked.

Crocodile raised his head up, staring out into the vast scenery of colorful aisles filled with CDs, record, and the older, less occasional tapes.

Well, _of course_ he thought Hancock was hot. Everyone thought she was hot. The girl was fifteen but had the body that fulfilled so many of his young, wild fantasies. Even Mihawk had been making comments about her, going as far as to flirt with her when he could. But she had so many admirers, not that it mattered to Crocodile. He was in no position to make passes at her, or any girl for that matter. He frowned. This wasn't a question that was really worth asking. No, it was more of a kind of instigation.

He looked over and spotted the boy playing with his goggles, rubbing the scratched lenses with the top of his school uniform. The boy was still attending school, for now. Crocodile had asked that Doflamingo remain in school, promising that he'd make it worth his while later. He had originally told the boy that he wasn't about to babysit Doflamingo all day long, but it had failed to deter him from trying to quit. No, the promise of a brighter future was the only way to keep Doflamingo from making yet another stupid mistake. Doflamingo was old enough to bear the consequences of dropping out at sixteen, and Crocodile was sure that getting back in at the boy's age wouldn't be too difficult, though he'd certainly would have to apply at a public school, but even Crocodile wasn't that cruel. He cared enough to threaten the boy to stay, to promise him slightly more attention than what he was already getting.

Doflamingo leaned against the opposing aisle, placing the goggles back on his head. He watched the boy turn and look at him, a curious smile spreading across his face. It was hard to see what the boy might be thinking. Crocodile was still not accustomed to the new sunglasses. "How would you feel if I tried to fuck her?" he asked.

Ah, so it had been instigating. And what was Crocodile to make of it? Doflamingo probably thought he would get some kind of reaction, but Crocodile had been sixteen once. He understood what was going on, and it wasn't going to work against him. So he shrugged at Doflamingo, and watched as a small frown appeared, almost matching his own. "That's up to you," Crocodile replied. He went back staring at the aisle of music, but then grew bored, and made his way over to the front doors.

Doflamingo stomped behind him, rushing up close so he could whisper into the young man's ear. "You're supposed to get upset at me," he hissed.

"I figured as much," Crocodile said. He opened the door just enough for him to slip through, leaving Doflamingo behind to open it and bark at him some more.

He quickly caught up to his pace. "Tell me you don't want me to fuck her," Doflamingo said, grabbing Crocodile by the shoulder.

Crocodile continued to make his way across the parking lot, his eyes now looking out into the rows of identical, boring vehicles. Monotony was making him desperate. "Why, when you're obviously not going to do it?" He stopped to get his keys out from within his pockets. He could see Doflamingo crossing his arms as he waited.

"You're supposed to want me all for yourself," he heard the boy mutter under his breath.

The boy was a hopeless romantic. He wanted nothing more than to feel completely desirable, and while the older of the two was flattered that Doflamingo cared that much, he still couldn't help but find it strange. Sure, it was nice to be desired. He liked that the boy desired him. And Crocodile supposed he ought to consider the boy's feelings more and return the favor. But then Crocodile remembered that he would be leaving soon. There was no point in trying to give Doflamingo everything when he would soon be out of his world. And Doflamingo, no matter how kind and loving he was and could be, had to grow up and understand that not relationships would work the way he wanted.

"Grow up, Doffy," Crocodile said, opened and unlocking the passenger door.

_And you loved him._

* * *

Crocodile kicked up his leg, hitting the lock of the backseat car, and accidentally sending off the locks for the rest of the car. A series of loud clicks were announced all around. He raised his head up, just enough to see what he had done, but was pulled back in with Doflamingo's thin, lanky arms; so greedy and demanding of his full attention.

"Nobody's here," the boy whispered underneath him, grabbing his face and pulling it closer to his. Crocodile let his eyelids sink as he pressed his lips against Doflamingo's, feeling that brief sense of worry disappearing with newfound desire, his mouth opening to bear sharp teeth against thin, tanning lips.

With every shiver and stuttered exhale, Crocodile felt that need inside him grow and burn. Doflamingo always went so weak underneath him. He felt those arms cling on to him, one shaking itself loose and sliding down his back, while legs bent themselves just enough for them to not completely destroy the interior of the car.

"Move up a bit," Crocodile ordered. Cars were not practical places for engaging in sexual behavior. Although the highway was empty enough, and most people didn't care enough to stop for a vehicle with it's emergency lights on, there was always that hint of anxiety from partaking in such pleasure out in the open. Doflamingo inched his way up, his head resting against the door, making a face as he tried to make the best of it while Crocodile continued to mark his neck with hickies, feeling amazing each time he was welcomed with the sight of bright red spots on skin. He held the boy's body down with his own strength. His fingers clung to the boy's wrinkled uniform, feeling so powerful and fantasizing over how small and helpless Doflamingo was to stop whatever pain he decided to unleash.

Doflamingo sighed, resting and arm behind his head. "Suck my cock for me," he asked.

Crocodile raised his head, staring at wet, molested skin and pondered over his lessening discomfort. He was wondering how long it would take for the demand to become less of a chore. And they were in a car, limiting his ability to make the most of what he could get from such a task.

Still, it wasn't as though Crocodile hated the act. So he lifted himself off of the boy, turning around again, this time to survey the space they had, and concluded that Doflamingo would have to be in a sitting position in order for this to work out comfortably enough. He wiped his face of any stray saliva from his face and looked out the windows, making sure they were still alone.

"Sit up," he ordered. The boy quickly complied. Crocodile could already feel that discomfort building inside of him. It was becoming more frequent. The more sexually engaged he was with Doflamingo, the more it ached and left Crocodile wanting for an _unnatural_ kind of attention.

Crocodile undid the button holding the pants together, fiddling with the zipper for less than a second before working his way through the boy's undergarments. He was getting good at this, and he wasn't sure if it was worth celebrating over or becoming absolutely ashamed about. Doflamingo slipped down the seat, not willing for the back of his head to be spotted from a distance, as well as making it easier for the older of the two of pry his way and free the blond's penis. His left hand pressed against the clothes, pushing it down while his right guided the organ into his mouth. His eyes closed as he rested it inside of his mouth, feeling it come alive against his stiffened tongue. He began sucking right away; bobbing his head up and down a few inches before his throat relaxed enough for him to add the rest. Each and every time he moved he heard Doflamingo breath heavily against him, legs spread further, hoping to somehow get more.

He liked the sounds, enough for the gag reflex to completely dissipate and for him to start enjoying the action. But then he felt Doflamingo's hand against his cheek. "Look at me," were the haunting words that came from the boy's mouth. Crocodile's eyes opened, staring down at clothes and the base of a reddened cock. He stopped.

"Come on," the boy said, "I wanna see your pretty eyes."

Crocodile exhaled so heavily through his nose that a few blond hairs prodding through the fly shook. He looked up, staring at Doflamingo with his glare, watching his smile widen as he took it all as some kind of joke.

"Yup, that's it," Doflamingo said. "I love that precious look of yours." _Well, of course_. What could Crocodile possibly do now, other than finish? He felt his body shake a little as he kept his eyes up on Doflamingo, watching the face change and the smile grow open and bare teeth, only to fade as lips pulled inward, eyes nearly shutting as Crocodile sucked and swallowed the penis down to the fly.

The sounds had been pleasing enough, but being forced to watch the boy's expression change made it hard for him to keep steady. Crocodile's mouth was salivating more than he wished, and his ache was burrowing further between his legs. He stared into those weakened blue pupils, feeling something pleasurable that never had happened before without any kind of direct stimulation. He tasted precum running and pooling in his mouth, and with that image in his mind, felt something warm begin to collect and pool right between that god awful slit.

His eyes went wide when he felt it exit. Wet and warm and _how was that even possible?_ He had been told just the opposite would occur.

He was afraid to be caught. Crocodile continued to give head, his mind screaming as he lifted his left hand away from the boy's inner leg, shaking as he slowly made his way down to his pants, telling himself over and over that it was only his mind playing tricks on him. It wasn't the first time the mind got the better of him. _That was supposed to be impossible. They told him so!_

"I think I'm gonna come," he heard Doflamingo struggle to say. Crocodile blinked, feeling the edges of his eyes burn. This was embarrassing. He aborted the mission and hurried himself back to Doflamingo, now so eager for it to all end, letting the boy's cock touch the back of his throat and take advantage of his ability to swallow under pressure. The boy's hands gripped his shirt, and he heard Doflamingo whimper out his name, adding more to that already unbearable situation.

Doflamingo finished, his cock squirting out that undesirable, hard to describe salty taste. It was enough to help bring down his mood, but didn't change the fact that the day was already ruined. Crocodile swallowed. He didn't want do, and nearly gagged doing so, but the trip to the window would mean an unnecessary amount of movement that he couldn't risk.

Crocodile lifted himself back up; closing the gap between his legs as inconspicuously as he could while Doflamingo wiped himself clean. He stared down, feeling that nasty wetness press against his cloths. His eyes began to water. He wiped it face, making sure to have his arm rest over his mouth and hide his true intentions. Doflamingo grabbed his hand.

"Want me to suck you off?" he asked.

Finger's tickled his palm. Crocodile felt his stomach sink at the offer. It was disgusting. He could feel it still there, all wet and a mild heated simmer still wanting for something to reach deep inside and fill it up.

 _Yes._ "No," Crocodile answered.

Doflamingo buttoned his pants. "You sure?" he asked. "I saw you reaching down for a few seconds." The boy fixed his sunglasses back into place. "Unless…you don't think there's enough space for this?"

It was throbbing. Crocodile stared at the boy who, just hour's prior, had downed an entire bottle of Powerade, only after bitching over the lack of his favorite flavor, to prove some ridiculous point. He had thrown some of it up, whined some more, complained all the way to a music store, talked about breasts and women, trying to get Crocodile to feel jealous for him, to feel more valued in their strange relationship. That boy, who couldn't choose a book for himself, and nearly got caught on his way out. Who talked about taking apart humanity, but whined and begged not to see any decent horror films. Who tugged at his arm and poked his shoulder for attention. Who laughed at him when he worked so hard to detail his artwork. Who wore sunglasses and goggles, at the same time! Who never gave him any goddamn space and always grabbed him in bed. Who never gave him a moment of peace, not since he was eight years old.

Why did it hurt so much for _him_? Of all the humans on the planet, of all the people he could have begged to offer himself to, why was he thinking about it with Doflamingo?

"I was trying to get myself in the mood," Crocodile said. He fell into his usual bored stare, letting his eyes sink down, but away from himself. "It's Saturday. I'm…low."

Doflamingo wrinkled his nose. "I can still give it a try."

 _Yes._ "No," Crocodile stressed. "We have things to do anyways…"

"You sure?"

 _No._ "Yes," Crocodile answered, looking off and away from Doflamingo. "We'll worry about it next week. I really need to get stuff done. Y'know, moving shit."

He watched Doflamingo shrug, believing every word of it. It was getting cold down there. "Kay," the boy quietly replied. He stretched his arms out before grabbing the door and swinging it open, making his way to the passenger's side while Crocodile lowered his gaze back down, face paler than ever before.

Something about the way Doflamingo had said the word had hurt him. Crocodile was in pain as it was. But Doflamingo's quiet reply had left him feeling somewhat guilty.

And the mood was finally killed.

* * *

**-Now-**

A gun was pressed against his head. Doflamingo remained stiffly in place as he felt the woman press the weapon further against his temple, the barrel rubbing against his sweaty skin. Without a means to tell time, Doflamingo could only assume that he had been trapped in the basement for decades, and with the gun aimed for his skull, the young man couldn't help but find himself going further into deep thought, this time letting several years of his life pass by through his covered eyes.

"You and your friends have caused quite the mess," he heard the woman proclaim. Something about her voice worried Doflamingo. She was nervous. This would normally be a good thing, but considering she was a woman with a gun, the last thing he needed was for her to overreact and put a bullet into his brains.

Deep thought. He was watching the first five years of his life pass by, freezing right at the moment he first ran away from home.

"Would you be willing to tell me who you work for?" he heard her ask, this time her voice slowly lowering, almost sounding like a smooth, empty demand, rather than a nervous, final attempt to get some answers. Doflamingo could tell there was something desperate about her, but he couldn't quite figure it out.

"Will you still splatter my brains all over your pretty skirt if I do?" Doflamingo sarcastically asked in return. He felt a hot hand swipe against his face, leaving a painful sting all over his cheek. Doflamingo flinch, wincing at some of pain spreading across his exhausted body, but held in the reaction he was sure the woman was hoping for.

"You're in no position to ask questions," the woman muttered.

"You sound nervous," Doflamingo replied, coughing up the last few words as he tried to readjust himself in his seat. The pain from his cheek was beginning to diminish when he felt the barrel of the gun hit the back of his head. He hissed, closing his burning eyes as he lurched forward, nearly losing balancing. He felt the chair's back legs lift. The woman grabbed the top of the chair, barely holding on to his weight as Doflamingo opened his eyes, staring into darkness and feeling himself increasingly nauseous from the lack of balance.

She was nervous. She might even be afraid. Doflamingo couldn't piece it together. This woman had been described as so confident by Baby 5 and Gladius, how else could she have gone out of her way to calmly steal his cargo? What had changed since his capture?

"Where are they?" he asked.

"What?" he heard the woman reply.

A smirk appeared on his weary face. "You know," he said, swallowing what little saliva he had left in his throat, "the girls?"

The chair was slowly moved back into position. The weight that had multiplied inside of his stomach was eased as Doflamingo was situated back into his original, stiff position. He heard her whisper, "are you telling me you've yet to detect the smell of decay?"

Doflamingo had noticed it right away, and it seemed over time the smell had begun to devour what little fresh air was entering the cracks of the door leading into the basement. But when someone was busy letting their mind wander, trying to think up ways out of death's grasp, thinking up alternate universes where nothing went wrong, or of potential tortures to come, the smell of spilled stomach acid, blood, and possible gore often disappeared into the background.

Doflamingo's lips slowly parted, and with his new awareness of the girl's situation, he could suddenly taste that strong, coppery smell wafting in the air. "What exactly did you do with their bodies?" he asked, still staring out into the darkness. It was a question brought on by reflex, stupid morbid curiosity. Doflamingo really hadn't meant it, especially since he was still clinging on to the hope of rescue.

She chuckled. "Thanks to your visit, we had to postpone moving the remains."

But he had heard some moving taking place, which meant, much to his dismay, that his drugs may be long gone. Doflamingo sucked in a deep breath of air through his nostrils, feeling how dry his insides were as he held in his breath, feeling a sinking sensation take hold of him. He wanted to ask her where it had gone to. He was afraid to know. This was Whitebeard territory. He couldn't risk gaining any knowledge that would leave him in any worse state than what he currently was. Oh, but he had nothing to give to Kaido! He was essentially screwed.

"Would you like to see what your foolishness has lead to?" she asked coldly. Doflamingo actually shook his head. He had already experienced enough guilt and pain the past god knows how many minutes or hours he had been trapped in this musty, hot basement. He didn't need another reminder. He screwed up. He was screwed.

He felt her hand grab his blindfold. Doflamingo knew there would be little point in closing his eyes. He couldn't keep them closed for long, so he tried his best to mentally prepare himself for the images he was about to witness.

But nothing really prepares a person from such vicious acts. Doflamingo had done some pretty despicable things. He had hurt people. He had robbed them, had people addicted to his product. In a sense, he had killed quite a bit of people, and he had hoped that he would one day ruin the lives of thousands. He was a sick human being bent on causing havoc and chaos wherever he went, all in the hopes of one day obtaining the power and infamy he so desired. But all of his deeds, starting from the moment he met that strange little boy across the street, up until this very moment, sped through his mind and washed away as his vision began to readjust in the dimly lit basement, only to focus on the grim scene that took place on the other side of the room.

He blinked, feeling his eyes burn as he was hit with the stench that he had not detected until now. Seeing the ripped stomachs and intestines torn apart, messily vacated with water, resulting in what was now a long, dried trail of brown and yellow that stretched from one side of the room all the way down to the center, where it had pooled and drained just a few inches from where Doflamingo sat. The young man lowered his gaze down at the drain, lifting it back up to the table situated against the wall, at the bodies that still had clothes on, makeup, and surprised looks on their faces. This woman knew exactly what to do, and did it without a given warning. She murdered the girls without a second thought, and with the help of her male companion, vacated the insides in a quickly, disgustingly messy matter. Worst of all, he couldn't find any bullet holes on them.

His eyes darted to the left and spotted a hose that had yet to be soiled back into place. His eyes moved to the right, noticing that the floor did in fact dip towards the center, and then could make out the boxes filled with all sorts of tool necessary for prying fleshy things open.

"Impressive," Doflamingo murmured. It truly was a work of art. Whomever designed this hell chamber knew exactly what they were doing, and for why. This person knew this was Whitebeard territory, cartel territory, newbie and entrepreneur territory, and they themselves, a fellow entrepreneur, created a business in capturing and reselling other people's hard work as his own. A risky, incredible, and admirable business. Doflamingo would have been jealous were it not for the fact that he had all his hope shattered by the site of it. People who tore apart young women's insides without a given thought usually were not the kind of people who let their hostages live.

"…You're smiling," he heard her say.

Doflamingo turned his head as far as he could without straining himself, catching a glimpse of the woman's stoic expression t. He licked his dry lips, noticing how much harder it was to breath when the animal part of the brain had decided that it was all over.

"I can't help it," he replied, making sure to sound as cheery as he could, despite feeling utterly hopeless. "I've never quite seen a room like this. It sickens me. Congratulations, you and your friends should be proud."

A small smile appeared on her face. He watched her crossed arms give way, the gun lowering and resting on her curvy form. "Do you feel inspired to inform me how you got here? And with whom you work for?"

Doflamingo broke into desperate hysterics. "Why on earth would I do that now?" He watched her smile quickly fade, her body go erect with confusion, the gun raising itself back up, pointed at him…as though it would have some kind of effect. Ha, but the game was already over. Doflamingo stuck out his tongue, earning a sharp scowl from the young woman. "Go ahead, _Miss_ All-Sunday, shoot me!" he yelled. "Shoot my fucking brains out, it'll be so much quicker, and it'll save us the time!"

His heart was beating so hard against his chest it hurt. Doflamingo watched her walk in front of him and place the gun on the floor, only to walk past him, disappearing from his sight. His chest ached. Doflamingo knew he ought not to have said such reckless things. He had practically given her permission to torment the answers from him, but he couldn't begin to regret it, not when he was so filled with anger and fear.

With heavy breathing and panic, Doflamingo did not hear what was occurring behind him. He didn't know until he felt something thin and long shove it's way between his back and the frame of the chair. A pole? Stick. Doflamingo couldn't tell. But he felt it roughly rub against his sore flesh, causing him to back away from it.

"You want a quick death?" he heard her ask. Doflamingo exhaled heavily through his nose, feeling each drop of sweat run down his shaking form. He stared at the table covered in blood and gore, at torn muscles dripping colorful liquids. "I can give you a quick death," she said, lifting herself up and leaving the pole situated between Doflamingo and the chair. He felt her tied something around the chair, then the pole, tying a quick knot so that it would remain in place. Doflamingo scowled, his arched back growing weary of the new position he was forced in.

She walked in front of him; standing just inches away, with a long pale sheet in her hands. Doflamingo stared at it, knowing exactly what he was going to do with it.

"I can call a few of my subordinates down here," she said, walking up close and lifting her arms up, "and they'll do all sorts of things. We know how to leave a person alive for weeks. We have our ways." She held on to the sheet with both hands, showing off its length to Doflamingo before pressing it against his forehead. He struggled, trying to keep himself from being found any further, but found his attempts to be useless. He let her have her way with him, and now Doflamingo was forced into position, his vision limited to the rotting corpses resting in front of him.

"Think really heard about what you want," she said from behind. Doflamingo pulled in his lips, staring out, keeping his silence as he heard her heels slowly click away from him. "That gun in front of you, or the tools my subordinates choose to use on you."

What could Doflamingo say? He really had nothing to offer her. She assumed he was something he was not. He want a real cook. He couldn't recreate what Caesar had made. That was the only thing that had kept him alive from this point, up until now.

And now Doflamingo was sure he was going to die. The only question left was how? He could be direct and honest, and maybe she would mercy kill him. Or torture him for wasting her time. Either way, Doflamingo knew honesty was probably not the best course of action. He could lie to her, make up some extravagant story about how he worked for Whitebeard, maybe even tie himself with Kaido, and he might be allowed a few days of life before the truth was discovered. Would that be worth it though? Surely his friend would try to rescue him before then?

Doflamingo frowned. _But_ what about his friends? He was going against a group of people that were way ahead of him in cruelty. His gang was still growing. Would they really stand a chance?

He knew what he had to do. He had to be honest. He had to tell the truth, because anything less would be so unjust to Vergo, Monet, his closest friends, and everyone else who stuck their heads out to further his goals. He needed to let them know what was going on. He would have to somehow inform them that they not continue heading south. They would finish what business they ad made with Kaido, and then they would quit. If he was lucky enough he might be able to save Vergo the responsibility of dealing with the warlord.

It was time for his final act.

"…Ah," Doflamingo muttered, forcing his smile back on his face, "but I suppose giving out information would result in the gruesome death of my compatriots?"

"Consider your options carefully," he heard her say in a low, almost seductive whisper.

"…I already have," he replied, voice so easily filled with remorse. He heard her footsteps stop at the stairs. He gave her no time to ask questions, letting himself play the role of desperate hostage, a role that was turning more natural with each word he spoke. "I can have my boss tell you everything you need to know."

A heel pressed itself against the hard floor. "And how do you plan on doing that?" she asked. Her voice was filled with suspicion.

"You have my phone," Doflamingo answered. "I can have you call them. I'll tell him I'm in need of his rescue…he'll spill everything."

"Hmm…and you expect me to believe that he offer information in exchange for your life?"

Doflamingo weakly laughed. "My boss…he's an idiot. The fool sent me out here without thinking about all the problems this country is filled with." He sniffed. "He's a young romantic, an idealist who acts before he thinks…you'd be shocked to know the man's on his way trying to strike a deal with Kaido."

He heard her heels on the concrete floor again. He felt her hands grip the chair. She whispered into his ear. "And why should I trust you?"

Doflamingo stared at the contents of the table. "Because you know how incredibly desperate I am," he answered, making sure to not break his stare away from the table. He was truly desperate, but even then he had to make sure she knew. She needed to see every bit of it, to feel it, to be compelled to play into his hands one last time. "I'm not a fighter. I'm a cook. And you said it yourself, I've made a foolish mistake."

She lifted her hands from the chair. "I see…" he heard her say before the sounds of her walking away from him once again filled the room. Doflamingo's entire body ached from the horrible position he was in, but it didn't stop him from trying to look over his shoulder and see where she was going, if she had truly taken what he said into consideration.

She walked up the stairs and left the door open.

Doflamingo stared at the corpses on the table, rethinking the possibilities for an escape one final time before calmly telling himself that it was time for him to be an adult and give up on such impossible things.

Impossible things…it made him so sick to think this was how it was going to end. Of course he didn't want to die! He was so much more deserving of life. There were so many things he had not accomplished. _But perhaps that was what being an adult meant…sacrifice_. Doflamingo remembered hearing those words before. He remembered being scolded for his immature behavior so many times before this. Only now was he starting to get it. He couldn't twist those words anymore, use them against those who had upset them, use those words to hurt those he had once cared so deeply for. He had friends who were going to try to retaliate against this unknown force, and the only way for them to possibly survive was for him to warn them.

For the second time Doflamingo watched his life play in his head, but this time he noticed certain parts slow down, somehow playing in real-time. Precious memories that he had distorted to earn his favor, that he might have repressed, that he loathed more than anything else. Everything shown in front of him, uncensored and clearer than anything else, ruining him and reminding him that he was in this position only because a man had drunkingly mentioned that the person he had hurt was still out there.

Doflamingo blinked, surprised that he had managed not to break into tears when he realized that there was one question that he had never had answered. He _really_ would never find out if Crocodile was still alive or not. He'd never know if his words had truly broken the man. He'd never find out if half of his dreams had any real end to them.

And that hurt more than anything else.

He heard her walk down the stairs, and with every step she took Doflamingo could feel himself growing number. By the time she grabbed herself a chair, and had dragged it right next to his, Doflamingo couldn't a feel a thing other than a mild pain in his heart.

She placed the cellphone on his lap. "So far no one has called."

Doflamingo replied stoically. "Thankfully they know better than to waste my batteries."

She didn't seem to care for his reply. She crossed her legs, leaning forward, picking up the phone once more and lifting it up to Doflamingo's face.

"I can safely assume he'll be listed as one of your close contacts, correct?" she asked. Doflamingo tried to nod his head as best as he could. The bondage trying his head to the pole made it hard. She seemed to understand though, providing him a cold smile before pulling up his contacts.

 _Don't do it._ Doflamingo could hear the quiet voice in the back of his head warn him over and over again as he stared at the glowing screen on his phone. He was so close to getting things done the way they ought to have been, and yet he couldn't stop himself from letting the worst idea pop up in his mind, that last desperate call for him to answer the unanswered question. Who knew how much time he had left before it was over. He kept warning himself not to _do it_ , not to ruin the last good thing he could provide for everyone, and yet it was just too much to let pass by.

"Go to the D selection," he quietly answered. He was so disappointed in himself. "It will be the third name, initials actually, right at the bottom."

She pulled the phone back to her chest, staring suspiciously at the screen. Doflamingo listened in torment as she loudly pressed the buttons on the phone, his eyes beginning to twitch as he waited for her to make the call and put it on speaker.

The phone began its call, and she placed it back on his lap. Doflamingo sucked in a deep breath as the first, long tone echoed in the small room. Miss All-Sunday walked over to the gun and grabbed it, swinging it in her arm as she made her way back to her seat. Doflamingo continued to pray the idiot on the other side would answer his phone.

What time was it right now? What time was it in New York?

Finally, the waiting ended, and both listened to the sounds of the call being answered, followed by the sounds of something being ruffled. Bed sheets maybe? Was it early in the morning over there, or incredibly late at night?

"…Hello?" That monotonous tone never sounded so welcoming. Even underneath the ground, in a basement that left it crackling, Doflamingo felt so grateful to hear the man's voice.

Doflamingo silently apologized to Vergo and everyone for failing them as he opened his mouth, trying to relax in his seat as he replied back. "Guess who?" he said in a singsong voice. The woman sat in her seat, silent as ever, waiting for the discussion to take place.

A groan. "Doflamingo?" He more movement taking place, or perhaps it was just a collection of static buildup from the terrible reception. "Do you have any idea what time it is?"

Doflamingo privately thanked Mihawk for being vague enough not to mention his current location. He chuckled. "Yes…I apologize deeply." He sighed; letting his legs stretch out as he stared out into the basement. "Look…things...I need you to listen to me very carefully."

"Doflamingo…"

"No, no, let me finish," Doflamingo nervously interrupted. This call could not go sour. He couldn't let her know this early. "I'm…in really big trouble right now." There was silence on the other side of the line.

"I fucked up real good," Doflamingo added. He wished he could shrug, turn his head to the side and laugh at how pathetic this conversation was. "I'm probably…well…"

"Where are you?" The voice was so frantic that Doflamingo almost didn't believe it was Mihawk's. He supposed it had something to do with his own voice. He couldn't really hear right now. He couldn't smell the rotting, couldn't hear his own shaking voice, or feel his back and neck being sprained with pain. But he was glad that Mihawk was upset. It helped so much.

He caught the glimpse of the gun being raised. He had to hurry. Doflamingo sighed through his nose as he decided he would just finish and get his answer. "It doesn't matter right now," Doflamingo said aloud. He heard more movement taking place, maybe the sounds of the older man getting out from his bed. "Look, I just need you to do me one favor, for my own piece of mind, ok?

"Do you need money?" he heard Mihawk ask on the line. "I can wire you something…just give me the account number."

"No," he answered. "I just need one _final_ thing from you."

"Doflamingo…"

"For the last few years, I've been working towards a goal," Doflamingo said. "I've been spending almost every waking hour, desperate to fulfill this goal, all because you were so drunk one night, you let it slip–"

He felt a gun pressed against his head. At some point Miss All–Sunday had grown bored of the conversation and had made her move to speed the conversation up. It was upsetting, because Doflamingo relay want to express how much time he had spent, how far he had gone, all because of this one very small chance that there may be a chance to give himself some retribution.

She removed the gun. "I'll use these on your knees," she whispered into his ear.

He shut his eyes tight. "Mihawk," he said.

There was a deep inhale. Not from him, but from the woman standing next to him.

She leaned back to him. " _How do you know_ –"

He didn't catch those words on time, saying his own before realizing it. "Is Crocodile–"

The chair was pushed to the ground. Doflamingo yelped, jerking in the chair that he was bound to, spitting out a swear as the left side of his face hit the concrete floor.

He shut his left eye, feeling something warm and pool across the side of his face. The pain was unbelievable. "Fuck!"

"Doflamingo?" Mihawk's voice yelled through the line. The woman ran over to the phone and smashed it with her heels. Doflamingo winced, staring through his lidded right eye. His mouth tasted coppery. The binding around his head was loosening, but was also soaking in something wet and warm.

She turned and stared down at him, her blue eyes wide as she pointed a gun at him.

"Mihawk…Dracule?" she hissed out the words. Doflamingo slowly let both of his eyes opened, not the least bit fazed that the left side was blurry and covered with a thin veil of red.

"How do you know him?" she barked. Doflamingo coughed. "How do you…so you know "Red Hair" then? Are you working for him?"

He hadn't the slightest idea what she was talking about. But she had used Mihawk's last name. She knew Mihawk. She knew him better than he did. And whatever the fuck Mihawk was up to, whatever the hell she knew about him, completely ruined his chances of getting an answer.

"Goddamnit, Mihawk," he groaned.

"…Who are you?" she asked him.

"Doflamingo Donquxiote," he answered. "A fucking retard. And yes, I know the bastard." Feeling the cloth around his head slip with the weight of his blood, he turned his head and looked up at her. "But I don't work for him. I had no fucking idea he was special. No, the man's always gotta be full of secrets." He coughed, letting some of the pool collecting from his nose spill from his mouth. "So…are you going to kill me now?"

He watched her take a step back from him. "No," she answered. "I'm not." Doflamingo frowned. "Instead," she started, "I'm going to leave you here. I'm going to let you rot here, alone, in the dark."

"…"

He watched with his good eye, her swaying legs walking past him, leaving him stuck on the floor, head aching and bleed through what could be multiple cracks across the skull. Doflamingo didn't protest as he heard her walk up the stairs, his vision going blurry on one side, his mouth filling with the bitter aftertaste of blood and defeat.

She turned off the lights. The door slammed shut.

He'd have cried, but the pain made it impossible to do so.

* * *

**-Then-**

Yes, Doflamingo was a stupid kid, but one day he'd stop being one.

Crocodile stared at the house he had spent several years of his life in. Even after being given the oppur–the _permission_ to transition and become an adult, it had never felt like home. The relationship he had with his parents, with several members of his family, had been completely shattered. He was the outcast, the subject that nobody was allowed to talk about. His mother, despite finalizing the process, was distant. She had been so happy to be told that she was going to have a girl. His existence in the house was a constant irritation to her, salt against the festering wound. And he couldn't bring himself to feel sorry for her, not after her spending so many years telling him that he was in the wrong. He even thought about killing her. He had not seen his father since she brought him to see the therapists, the endocrinologist, and the judge. The man might as well be dead.

He made his way inside, not stopping until he was back inside his almost empty room. Everything was in boxes now, save for what he needed till he decided to leave. But with nearly everything finalized, it wouldn't be too long before he could finally escape this place.

Crocodile sat on his bed, avoiding the writing desk and sparing himself the distraction of writing or drawing whatever was eating his mind. No, he knew exactly what was bothering him.

Sex. Crocodile could feel his entire body shiver at the word. He wanted _real_ sex. He wanted more than what he was willing to offer up though. He wanted to fuck, not get fucked. He didn't want to have to…

His body shook. He was getting frustrated. Crocodile stared down at the floor, at the vast space of his nearly empty room. He slumped over, letting his elbows rest against his legs as he tried to make sense of what he was feeling.

He could come up with a million excuses and means to keep Doflamingo away, but it didn't change the fact that him moving away was beginning to affect him just as much as it to Doflamingo. The boy was doing what he could to make himself a candidate for the move. He wanted to swept away and taken to see the real world. A stupid, precious romantic dream of his. The dreams of a child who had once been promised such. Just the thought had Crocodile shaking his head in disbelief.

And yet. Crocodile stood up from the bed, feeling a surge of wild energy hit his legs. He felt jittery. He wanted to pace around the room until it dwelled, but he knew it wouldn't.

He knew there was a growing part of him that wanted to take the boy along. He could feel that part of his brain rationalize a list of excuses. The boy was getting older. They would be low on funds, and Doflamingo would be hit with a wall of reality. Doflamingo would have no choice but to grow up and become more practical. He'd grow up, and the two of them could work things out, or he'd break and beg for his family to take him home. Either way, Crocodile would be left with some satisfaction in moving their relationship to another level. At the very least, if Doflamingo followed him then that meant that the boy was willing to go through some level of commitment. Crocodile needed that.

He had known his secret for two years now. Two years, and there was still so many things he was keeping. But the boy listened. Doflamingo joked, but never forced that kind of intrusion. He knew better. Doflamingo understood how frail masculinity could become, especially when it wasn't something guaranteed. That commitment, going beyond the two years and stretching beyond ten, might just be enough for him to supply Doflamingo with another, far more taboo secret.

Crocodile fell on top of the bed and stared up at the ceiling, counting the few weeks he had left before he could leave. His head turned and he looked into the dark, messy sheets, grabbing some of the covers towards himself, burying his face as his other hand stopped against his stomach, trembling rather close to the brim of his pants.

 _Love is a sick, fickle thing_. Crocodile's eyes lazily came to a close as he pressed himself against the cool covers, breathing in the smells of the past several days, two beings fondling one another, the satisfaction never quite enough, while undoing his pants.

"..."


	17. The Hands Will Take

**  
-Part 2-**

**-Now-**

Doflamingo wasn't sure when he had passed out, but when he suddenly became aware of his existence, and when he attempted to open his eyes, he was greeted with a soft, stuffy sensation covering his left side.

He was no longer bound to the chair. This he discovered right away, for the pain that had taken hold of his entire spine was now replaced with the annoying dry rub surrounding his wrists, which were now tied and bound behind his back. A bit of wriggling around and Doflamingo noticed that his legs were also kept together. Not with rope, otherwise his thin ankles might have had a chance to wear and undo them, but with a softer and thinner material.

A large, rough-feeling bag was covering his head, and after some deliberation, Doflamingo decided not to struggle to have it removed from his head. His left side was still letting out a dull ache, and while it felt like his eye had been covered in something, Doflamingo didn't want to take the risk of further injury. He was in a lot of pain and moving around more than what was required of him only made him feel worse.

His right side, which he had apparently passed out on, was numb from resting on the concrete floor. Doflamingo wiggled and rested himself on his back, almost feeling relieved when he stretched it out and heard a soft pop release inside of him. He exhaled heavily through the nose, feeling the hot air spread around the loose bag that covered his head.

At this point in time, there was little he could do but wait, either for his friends to some and try to rescue him from his fate, should they decide to do so, or for him to dehydrate or die of exposure. If Miss All-Sunday was true to her word, then he'd wouldn't have to worry about being tormented.

He breathed in some stale air and let the taste linger in his mouth. It tasted cleaner, no longer carrying that heavy scent of decomposition. A lot had happened since he had lost consciousness. It made Doflamingo wonder. He wriggled himself again; making sure his sides didn't suspiciously ache or itch. He rolled over on his stomach, testing the nerves. After all, moving dead bodies often results in a lot of noise making, and while Doflamingo had been in quite a bit of pain prior to this, he couldn't help but feel drugs might have been involved in his aided sleep.

Also, he wanted to make sure he still had all his precious organs. If he were going to die, he'd prefer to experience it fully intact.

Doflamingo went back to resting on his back, letting his arms bare the minor annoyance of his weight. He was feeling hungry. He was also sore, his covered eye felt like it didn't quite fit into it's socket, and his back was still stiff from being held in place for so long, but Doflamingo still found himself distracted by the simpler, biological necessities.

Starving would really suck. Oh, and when it came time to relieving himself…

Of course, now that he was thinking about it, there was something eerie about him no longer being tied to the chair. Even stranger was his eye being covered up. Doflamingo could envision that him no longer being bound up to the chair meant that he might be tortured later, despite being told otherwise. After all, it would be easier to drag him around the room, and he could imagine that watching him being tormented would be more fun if could squirm around, but covering his eye made little sense to him. Sure, Miss All-Sunday could be dragging this out, and fixing the eye up now meant more opportunities to pick at it later, but seeing how cold she had been to him: after such a show it just felt wrong that she had taken the time to go down and fix him up.

His arms started to ache. Doflamingo flipped himself around and now rested on his stomach. He wasn't a fan of the sensation.

He wondered if _this_ was _it_. It was a real shitty way to go. Doflamingo wasn't sure he could distract himself long enough before things got too desperate. He had already proven himself that he could break, that was half the reason he was on the floor, but continue breaking over time; getting thirstier, becoming delirious, hungry, weak and sore all over; how long would it take before he started pleading for death, filling the basement with the sounds of his dreadful moans?

Doflamingo huffed, filling the bag surrounding him with more hot air.

He didn't get his question answered. Doflamingo wrinkled his nose, holding in that urge to scream with the pain that developed and spread across the left side of his head. No, instead of an answer he simply got more questions.

He sighed. How was it that Mihawk was still finding ways to piss him off?

Doflamingo swung his legs, getting a feel of the tight bounds that kept them together. He let out as much energy as he could. It didn't help much. After a few seconds of heavy breathing, he grew tired; his head surrounded by hot air and carbon dioxide, and went limp.

He wondered if having him bound like this was part of the torture? The mental kind of torture. Doflamingo could wiggle around, get close to the stairs, maybe even inch his way up the stairs, but it wouldn't be enough for him to escape. Was that what she had in mind? Doflamingo didn't want to get ahead of himself, not when he was already feeling so miserable.

He closed his eyes, feeling the right eye grow damp as he gave a long sigh, letting it stretch and heat up the air around his head.

He wondered if he had what it took to bite his own tongue off.

* * *

**-Then-**

Early December in Doflamingo's house was somehow more silent than the rest of the year.

Crocodile watched Doflamingo turn on the stove, letting his fingers dangle just inches above the flame. Even while squinting, he couldn't make out the safety pin that was between his fingers. He rested an elbow on the table and took a piece of sliced apple resting on a small plate, listening to Doflamingo nervously chuckle as he pulled the safety pin from the flame.

"Don't eat my apple," the boy warned, walking over to the table. Crocodile continued to munch on the small slice while Doflamingo rested the safety pin on top of the plate. He licked his lips as Doflamingo removed his sunglasses, resting them at the edge of the table. Crocodile stared at the many slices left on the plate, wondering just how many times Doflamingo was planning to pierce his ears before taking another slice and plopping it into his mouth.

As an early Christmas gift to himself, Doflamingo decided he would be ruin his chances at ever getting pussy by getting his ears pierced. Crocodile tried to warn him that only certain kinds of men got their ears pierced, but much like every other suggestion he offered, Doflamingo merely brushed it off, insisting it was merely a myth, and that it only counted when you got one side pierced.

Crocodile supposed he ought to say something about it, considering how close Doflamingo was to committing the act. He couldn't explain why, but watching the boy standing uncomfortably over the sink, letting melting ice drip down the side of his face as he waited for the left ear to go numb, was actually kind of amusing. He looked over at the table, eyes on the small safety pin, piece of broken mirror, the used bottle of hand sanitizer, and the two silver earrings. His scar itched as he lingered on the safety pin, knowing full well that Doflamingo wouldn't have what it takes to stab himself in the earlobe. Sure, it supposedly didn't hurt, it was supposed to burn more than anything else, but that didn't change the fact that Doflamingo was full of shit and couldn't make it through a typical horror film without looking away or falling into a panic. A cruel smile spread across his face as the boy reappeared, rubbing his reddened earlobe while sitting himself down across from Crocodile.

"Stop eating my apple slices," Doflamingo groaned, looking down at the spaces where slices had once been.

"I doubt you'll be doing eight piercings today," Crocodile retorted, fingers hovering above the plate. "We'll be lucky if you get through one without passing out."

"You shut the fuck up," the boy snapped back. Crocodile grinned. Doflamingo didn't appreciate the response and huffed. "I know what I'm doing…just do what I tell you and keep quiet." The blond nervously played with his hands before approaching the plate and grabbing the safety pin. Crocodile slowly arose from his chair, taking the piece of mirror with him and spotting Doflamingo reach out for a piece of apple.

Crocodile stood in front of Doflamingo, holding the mirror fragment at Doflamingo's eye level, waiting for the boy to gesture that his view was just right. In the meantime Crocodile was left on auto-pilot, letting his mind wander, figuring it would be a while before Doflamingo even attempted to puncture his own flesh.

"Hold still," Doflamingo said.

"Mhmm," Crocodile replied, letting his eyes linger on the boy's shaking hands. It almost pained him to see this. There was nothing quite as pathetic as caring about someone, especially if that someone was a moron who never listened to reason. Crocodile wished he didn't have these sorts of feelings. He should be laughing now, taunting the boy to make his final move before taking in that glorious scene of Doflamingo either giving up, or actually stabbing his ear and breaking into hysterics.

Instead, there was a part of him that was starting to feel… _concerned_.

Crocodile looked down at the boy's ear and frowned. "Uhm…"

Doflamingo flinched. "What?" he snapped. There was no denying the boy was beginning to question his own actions now.

"You're pointed crooked," Crocodile said, pointing a finger at the needle. "It's not going to look right if you go at it…"

He watched the body beneath him exhale deeply. Doflamingo lowered the safety pin away from his ear, and Crocodile could see the frustrated look on his face, the way the skin burned red against his tanned skin. The blue eyes would fiercely linger on one object, then to the next, and finally himself. The pathetic teen was incredibly stiff with discomfort, and Crocodile could feel some guilt having brought it.

"Do you want some help?" He was careful with the phrasing. Doflamingo's pride was hurting over the simple mistake he was about to make. Crocodile made sure that this offer would be more on Doflamingo making the choice to accept help, rather than admitting he needed it. Of course, Crocodile didn't wait long to drop the makeshift mirror back on the table, while Doflamingo nervously stared at the safety pin, weighing his options.

"You won't just jab it in me?" the boy asked with some suspicion. Crocodile shrugged. There was only way to get a piercing, and it often involved some force to it. Doflamingo rested a hand against the side of his head, grabbing the worn-out leather that kept his goggles together. "Let me do you first…"

"I don't want a piercing," Crocodile replied.

Doflamingo pouted. "How can I trust you?" he asked.

"Go ahead and try it yourself," Crocodile said, shrugging again.

Doflamingo groaned, staring down at the safety pin, then over at the near empty bottle of hand sanitizer, and grimly at Crocodile's hands, treating them as though they might be tools of torture. "And if you fuck up?" the boy finally asked.

"I don't see how I could, seeing that I'll have a better vantage point," Crocodile answered smoothly. His answer want anywhere near hitting Doflamingo's comfort zone, and he could tell by the way Doflamingo stared suspiciously at him that he'd have to provide more than just his word.

"You know I use a needle every goddamn week," he added.

"Not sure if that's the same," Doflamingo replied.

"Ugh, whatever."

"No, wait!" Doflamingo nervously played with the safety pin before jumping out of his seat, struggling with the small device in his hands before handing it to Crocodile. "Like, if you fuck up…I get to do you."

Crocodile stared at the pin that had been shoved into his hand, the needle pressing lightly against his palm. "Excuse me?" he asked.

"If you fuck up," Doflamingo said, "then I get to do the same to you, how's that?"

Suddenly all compassion for Doflamingo's well-being began to shrivel and dry up. Crocodile scoffed. "Are you insinuating I'll mess up?" he asked.

"No…I'm just giving you a reason not to mess up," Doflamingo said. "I'm delicate."

"Ha, you?" Crocodile replied. Picking up the needle with his right hand and pointing it at Doflamingo. "Sit your ass down."

"So, is that a yes?"

"Yeah, fine, whatever," he said, letting Doflamingo take his seat. Crocodile grabbed an apple slice and stared at both items in his hands, feeling a growing anxiety as it dawned upon him that he would now be the one to pierce Doflamingo's ears. He stared at the boy's small earlobe, barely keeping himself from biting a lip as he wondered whether or not that part of the body would bleed out of something wrong were to occur. Not that it would. He knew what he was doing.

The chair was pulled out more so that Crocodile could do the piercing from the side. Due to Doflamingo's growing height, Crocodile couldn't kneel down without making it harder on both of them, and by this point it was becoming rather obvious that the two of them were nervous. He placed the slice against the back of the boy's earlobe, letting the safety pin inch it's way closer until it practically touched the skin. Doflamingo sucked in a deep breath, and Crocodile almost felt like he was about to commit murder.

"…"

"…"

"…you need to cut your hair," Crocodile muttered nervously. "It's starting to look messy."

He heard Doflamingo begin to exhale. "I'm…trying it out long," he said. Crocodile could almost feel how forced the boy's words were. It must be difficult, not knowing when he would make his move with the blasted needle. Hopefully the conversation would distract Doflamingo just long enough for him to calm down.

"You, with long hair?" he said aloud. "I'm not sure…"

"I'm not about to wear it long like a girl," Doflamingo replied. His voice was a little less shaky. "I just want to see how long I can get it…you should be happy."

"Why?" Crocodile asked.

"I'm not spending a ton of money getting it cut anymore," Doflamingo replied. "You're always complaining about my spending habits, well, now I-I-I-I-ah fuck!"

Crocodile grabbed the boy by the shoulder and kept him in the seat. He stared at the boy's reddened ear, the safety pin now held together with the aide of the apple slice. He stared wide eyed at the punctured flesh, surprised that nothing dripped from the newly created hole.

"God. Damn. It." Doflamingo whimpered.

"Don't make it worse than what it is," Crocodile said, leaning a bit and carefully examining the pin, then moving his other hand just enough to spot the end of the needle breaking through the slice of fruit.

"Not bad," he muttered. "You want me to wiggle it around for you?"

"No!" Doflamingo swatted a hand, forcing Crocodile to back off and let go of the apple slice. The boy winced, grabbing his ear and cradling it with one hand, the other wiping away a stray tear that was running down his face. "Shit…you didn't even fucking warn me!"

"If I did, you would have only moved," Crocodile replied, shaking his head. He stared at Doflamingo, the way his thin body shook, now filled with adrenaline, and the pout on his red face. Not a frown, just a pout, and with the way those thin lips formed, attempting to look pissed off, but coming off as damn near adorable. The tear didn't help one bit. Crocodile looked away, letting his smile replace the thoughts that lingered in his head as he walked over back to his seat at the table.

"So, we got fifteen minutes to spend," Crocodile said, grinning at the flustered boy. _Boy_. Doflamingo never looked more like a child till this very moment. With only the goggles on the forehead, nothing was stopping Crocodile from taking in the lovely view. "Unless you want to get another safety pin out?" he added, successfully replacing all sexual thought with more tolerable taunts and teasing.

"No, I'll wait," Doflamingo grumbled.

Crocodile watched the boy rub his swelling earlobe. "You're going to get that infected," he said, watching Doflamingo wince from squeezing the apple, resulting in a bit of juice dripping and irritating the new hole.

"I seriously doubt a bit of juice will infect anything," Doflamingo retorted. Of course, twenty-four hours from this point the boy would be complaining about the burning infection in his ear, _of all things_ , and the two of them would be forced to pitch in the money, even though Crocodile would be anything but in the mood to help, in order to buy of decent creams to sooth the pain. None of this had happened yet, but Crocodile already knew it was going to happen. He watched sweaty fingers tap around the new hole and could practically smell it happening. The buildup of sweat that was to come certainly wouldn't help the cause.

Crocodile blinked, and quietly observed Doflamingo reaching out and grabbing earrings made for toddlers, sensitive steel that hopefully wouldn't cause any kind of allergic reaction, and then dipped the tip of the needle into the small container of sanitizer. Crocodile rested his elbows on the table, then his arms, and he smirked when Doflamingo separated the needle from the apple, and then slowly pulled the safety pin from the ear, making a series of uncomfortable faces from the soft sounds each action resulted in.

As Doflamingo struggled to place the earring in, several minutes too early, and Crocodile watched, only now half-amused, that warm feeling arose inside of him, again, this time slower, and Crocodile hadn't noticed until it was too late. He buried himself between the arms, his eyes lingering on Doflamingo. The boy raised the broken mirror up and stared at the new piercing, his new earring resting in the hole, and grinned, almost forgetting the fit he had before.

How strange was it that Crocodile could feel so happy after doing something so stupid? Doflamingo would surely want to get the other ear pierced now, and any chance of being taken seriously as an adult would be ruined because he already dressed like a fool, and now he had those stupid holes in his ear, and for some reason the smile on Doflamingo's face made it almost feel like it wasn't a big deal.

"It feels itchy."

Crocodile closed his eyes nice and tight, pretending he didn't hear those awful word escape the boy's lips.

* * *

Crocodile flicked the butt of his cigarette into the drain, making his way around the corner back towards Doflamingo's house. This grand neighborhood was starting to feel familiar. It was making less of an impression. Crocodile wondered what it meant. He walked passed the few houses, feeling calmer after a decent walk and smoke, though that worrying feeling inside of him kept on stirring.

He walked across the lawn, opened the door and could hear Doflamingo moving around upstairs. Little did both know the soap that got into the boy's new piercings would also contribute to the many issues the come the following morning. But Crocodile wasn't thinking of that. He wasn't thinking of anything right now, only those pesky feelings that were bothering him.

He sat himself down in the living room, letting his shoes rest on top of the table, attempting to make himself at home while Doflamingo finished getting dressed. But his something against the heel of his foot slipped, causing Crocodile to look over and spot a magazine in his way. He groaned, putting his legs back down so he move the magazine aside. He grabbed it, and was just about to toss it over, but caught a glimpse of the image covering it, and couldn't help but notice that underneath the magazine were a few more papers, so he stopped himself and held it in his hands, staring curiously at the cover.

"Hey, you there?" he heard Doflamingo call out. Crocodile quickly replied with an "Mhmm," still busying himself with the magazine, flipping through the real estates being offered, spotting a few pages that had been bent at the corner, obvious signs that Doflamingo's parents were at least considering a new place.

"Set up the Nintendo!"

Crocodile stared solemnly at the magazine before placing it back in the table. His eyes traveled over to the few sheets that had been underneath, unwilling to pick them up and figure out whether or not they involved assets, real estate, banks, or mortgages. Doflamingo's parents could afford to go anywhere they wanted.

He sank into his seat, crossing his legs and bringing a finger to his mouth to nip on as he tried to think about this new information that had been placed in front of him. Doflamingo would have mentioned something like this to him the moment he had found out. The fact that nothing had been said could only mean that this was recent, or that Doflamingo had been so neglectful of what was going on inside his home that he simply missed out on this. Either way, Doflamingo had no idea that he might be moving out of Arizona.

_You can't take him with you_. The words rang deep inside of Crocodile's mind. Should anything happen, resulting in them deciding to separate, Doflamingo would have nowhere to go. The boy was unprepared as it was, what would happen if he had no home to return to?

Crocodile then reminded himself that Doflamingo was going to grow up, that he was supposed to come to understand certain things. Perhaps if he told Doflamingo that his parents were looking at new homes, at the very least it would get to him that he would need to grow and accept some hard facts. They wouldn't have money. They'd struggle. Doflamingo probably wouldn't be able to ruin the world while working nine-to-five with no high school diploma under his belt. Maybe if he told Doffy all of this he might get a sense of whether or not the boy was ready to actually leave.

He remembered that Doflamingo was still a boy, a child really, and that there was the risk of him not taking the news at face value. He'd still cling on to that dream of running away, of getting all that he wanted, with his boyfriend, but still not be ready to face whatever the world chose not to offer him. Could Crocodile risk something like that?

He got up from the couch, heading over to the television, kneeling down to set up the gaming system before his hands froze in place. He held the system in his hands, feeling pressure build in his palms, spreading up his fingers, into his throat and across his skull. He squeezed the gaming system, holding tight until his hands stopped hurting, going numb from the insane pressure he was producing.

He stood up, taking a breath and letting his head spin for a moment, while asking himself why on earth he was so upset, especially when he hadn't yet made a decision? He exhaled, hearing the sounds of his nails scratching against the plastic surface, almost sure that the reason he was so upset was because he already knew what the answer was, but didn't want to admit it. Crocodile had done everything he could to provide himself the opportunity for change, to give himself the opportunity of transitioning further, free from familiar eyes. Wasn't that the plan? Doflamingo would only screw it up. He would ultimately tie him down to his old life. And there were just too many things to take into consideration. He couldn't bring Doflamingo, not if there was a chance his parents might move away. Doflamingo was still a boy. He was a stupid boy who wore goggles and made a mess of himself getting his ears pierced. His ears were _fucking_ pierced!

Crocodile heard a loud noise, like something had snapped, been tossed, and made contact with something so hard.

"What the hell was that?" he heard Doflamingo yell. And when Crocodile looked down in front of him, he was welcomed with the sight of a destroyed Nintendo 64. He nervously bit the bottom of his lip, staring at the shattered device, impressed that he could do so much damage, but mortified that he had wrecked Doflamingo's favorite game system.

"Shit," he hissed.

"What the fuck?" This time the voice was louder, and clearer, alerting Crocodile that Doflamingo had left his room and was probably running down the stairs to witness this tragedy. Crocodile remained silently poised as he caught Doflamingo bending down and staring at the many cracks and exposed parts of his precious toy. And then up at him. Crocodile blinked, suddenly noticing the heat forming in fists that he had not been aware of. His face was burning.

Doflamingo brought himself back up. "Uhm…"

Crocodile frowned, realizing what had just happened. Oh, _God_ , he had just experienced a temper tantrum. At nineteen.

"Are you alright?" Doflamingo asked. Crocodile could see, even with those stupid sunglasses in the way, that Doflamingo was more worried about him than the actual system, which made things all the more worse, because Doflamingo _knew_ this was a fucking tantrum.

"No, I just broke your Nintendo," Crocodile starkly replied.

The blond looked down at the damaged system. "Better _that_ than me," he heard him reply. Crocodile pressed his teeth together, so close to grinding them, feeling his hands burn and ache from holding it in for too long.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he asked, feeling his bottom lip beginning to tremble.

Doflamingo looked over at him. "I don't know," he admitted, shaking his head. "But you look like you're going to puke." The boy grabbed one of his red earlobes and rubbed it between his fingers.

Crocodile could feel himself biting his lips now.

"You know, this probably isn't a good time," Doflamingo said, "but you might really want to consider seeing someone about your anger problems…"

He sniffed. "I don't have anger issues."

"The last time you were upset you left my parents with a lovely hospital bill," Doflamingo muttered. Crocodile flinched when he felt a fingers touch his wrist. "And the time before that…you tried to commit murder."

Crocodile stared at the blank television screen, staring at the distorted reflection of himself, feeling his hand go limp so that Doflamingo could attempt to console him, while keeping a straight face, listening, but not letting too much show.

"And then you tried to go out into the desert, with no water," Doflamingo said, "and I'm not suggesting that it was a suicide attempt, but it might as well have been."

"No," Crocodile said, still staring at screen. He felt those fingers rub against his palm, always trying to tickle him and make him feel better, even though it was more of an annoyance, and it really only sort of worked when he was staring at Doflamingo. "But the time before that was."

He didn't really regret saying it, but he wasn't all that sure why he had said it in the first place.

"Oh," Doflamingo replied. He could hear the boy swallow uncomfortably. "Yeah." The finger moved away from the palm. Crocodile realized Doflamingo had had his left hand.

"So, uhm," Doflamingo grabbed the leather strap of his goggles with his free hand looking off to the side in a manner that could only be described as juvenile. Crocodile's head turned, no longer interested in staring at mere reflections, waiting for Doflamingo to get past that awkwardness of dealing with his own emotions, so that he could finally ask him, "do you…wanna talk about it or something?"

Doflamingo was right about a _few_ things, stress being one of them. _Hell_ , he'd give the whole love bullshit to the boy as well. He didn't react well to bad news. He broke things, and it didn't seem to matter what sort of things they were, including himself. And it seemed, ever since he was seven, that all he could do when faced with these problems was to lash out. But unlike the first time, there had been opportunities to talk about it. Every. Single. Time. Even the times where Doflamingo might have wanted to run away. The boy was always there, asking about it, always curious to know what was going on in his sick mind.

And now. "Why the hell do you even like me?" Crocodile asked. _Stop._

Doflamingo brows raised, enough for Crocodile to interpret that the boy was shocked by this question. He watched regrettably as the boy shrugged. "I don't know," he admitted. "I just really like you. I think you look nice. You smell good. I mean, I guess I could do–"

"But why?" Crocodile asked.

"How the fuck should I know?" Doflamingo responded. "I don't get how love works anymore than you do." He crossed his arms, sighing to himself. "But…I do get the part where I envy everything you accomplished. How you proved to me that nothing is impossible."

Crocodile finally felt the nausea set in. He found himself clinging to the boy's hand, hoping to get some of the finger stirring that had been taken away just seconds ago.

"I want that," Doflamingo said. "I want everything you did, but much more. I want it so bad, but I don't know how to get there, _yet_."

"I don't understand," Crocodile said, shaking his head.

"Of course you don't," Doflamingo said, chuckling, stopping only briefly to lick his bottom lip. "But trust me, one day you will. Give me enough time, and I'll show you what I mean." Crocodile felt his heart begin to beat rapidly. The nausea transferred down, changing and mixing into a different kind of anticipation. "I'll fucking show everyone what I'm capable of, if given the opportunity," Doflamingo said. _There was that word again_. Crocodile nod his head. "One day, I'll tower over everybody…including you. And then you'll see what I'm talking about, and it'll be so awesome." The boy stared at Crocodile, with his sunglasses, unkempt moist hair, and wide, almost evil looking grin. It surprised Crocodile.

But then the boy blushed. "But the love thing," Doflamingo said, almost stuttering his words. Crocodile was taken aback. "I don't know why I actually like you, let alone _l-love_." And then he went back to being that same, painfully awkward teenage boy that couldn't even look him in the eyes. Crocodile couldn't blame him. The boy had just said that "L" word. Crocodile wasn't even sure he could put that word into his mouth.

Crocodile didn't forget what the boy had said though. He still didn't quite understand exactly what Doflamingo meant behind it, but he could easily assume that Doflamingo had some very big plans in mind. And it was becoming more obvious to Crocodile that the birdbrain of a boy viewed his transition very differently than some. Was it correct? No. But that fact that Doflamingo wished to surpass him because of it was sort of flattering.

"B-by the way," Doflamingo added, this time stammering enough for his voice to crack at the very end of the sentence. (And Crocodile could feel that flattery shatter almost instantaneously). Crocodile felt a tug taking place in his left hand, a though Doflamingo was struggling not to nervously play with his fingers. "When I say love," the boy said, his voice filling up with hot air and forced haughtiness, "I mean that in a more "emotional" sense. Like, _well_ , what I mean–"

And then Doflamingo yelped, feeling Crocodile grab on tightly to the boy's hand with his left, pulling him out of the living room, practically dragging him up that flight of stairs, his face covered with his right hand to stop him from laughing and crying over how painful all of this was.

These days, everything brought pain. _Please, stop_.

Crocodile was quick to make his intentions more than apparent to Doflamingo. He only let his hand go when they were in the bedroom, and only to loudly shut and lock the door behind him. He turned himself around, and Doflamingo was there, greeting him with his thin, warm lips, and red embarrassed face. Crocodile grabbed on to it, feeling how hot the jawline was, in comparison to the ears, one hand sliding around the neck, feeling how hot _everything_ was now, while letting Doflamingo have at his bottom lip: pulling it into his mouth, sucking it lightly, hoping to make up for being a teenager during such a delicate time.

Doflamingo took an uneasy step forward, Crocodile one step back, and he was pressed against the wall, his left hand letting go of Doflamingo to feel his temporary entrapment, while Doflamingo grabbed his sunglasses and threw them across the room, exposing those electric blue eyes, no longer feeling any shame and replaced with their usual confidence. Crocodile took some of it in, letting it relax him just enough for Doflamingo to move in further, pushing paste teeth and tasting strong nicotine remains inside the room of his mouth.

And then came that dreadful buildup of pressure right between the legs. Crocodile did his best to ignore it, still not entirely sure if he was ready to face it, putting his mind at ease with his right hand rising up and playing with the messy blond locks, fingers lighting grabbing and digging into it, feeling almost comforted when he heard Doflamingo react to it.

Doflamingo pulled away, taking in a short breath and wiping his lips from of any stray saliva, his face no longer beet red, but Crocodile could still make out the parts that still felt a little overwhelmed from using _that_ word. Crocodile grabbed him by the hips and pulled him back in, hand back in the hair, his wet lips on the boy's neck, the right hand struggling to slide between the small gape of the boy's pants. He traveled down the rest of the neck, burying his face into the boy's shoulder, listening to Doflamingo's heavy breaths, his body otherwise limp and relaxed while Crocodile touched and took over it. He hand made it's way past the gap, beneath the pants and undergarments, and rested itself over the boy's buttocks, feeling it shiver underneath him before grabbing it and earning a shutter, a bit of the boy's voice trembling through the quick exhale.

Pleasure and pressure continued to pool inside of him as he beckoned Doflamingo to undo his pants, pulling the boy's lips back to his own, feeling his hunger grow and become uncontrolled while the boy struggled to undress, large hands grabbing hold of neck and rear end making keeping him in place. When did Doflamingo become the trapped one? Crocodile nipped and sucked on the boy's lips, smelling hot breath, like nicotine and something sweet, feeling more space being produced for his hand to travel further down, and feeling Doflamingo react to it.

He knew he couldn't fuck the boy. He watched though his lidded eyes, spotting Doflamingo's own go wide as his hand finally made it, rubbing the bottom cheek, his middle finger dangerously close to something Crocodile couldn't yet claim. Possibly ever. It didn't stop him from pursuing it. Crocodile went back down to Doflamingo's neck lowering the rest of his body so that he could reach the tight opening, felling the muscles around it quiver from his rough touch. He kissed the bottom of Doflamingo's neck, letting his tongue dip between the space of his collarbone, feeling the sweaty skin heave while he let go of the neck, rubbing against puckered flesh, hearing Doflamingo groan above him.

He felt arms grab him, pulling him closer. Crocodile could feel Doflamingo's erection against him, pushing past the thing fabric, and even his own. He could see it in his mind; vivid, hot, painfully stiff and already so close to bursting, and it made the pain deep inside him too much to continuing to ignore.

"Why are we stopping?" Crocodile felt his face stretch into a frown when he heard Doflamingo utter those painful words.

He could already feel it happening. Crocodile lowered his other hand, feeling it rest against Doflamingo's clothed stomach, almost too affectionately, and his body shivering once he made contact with the fabric. He knew Doflamingo was watching, impatiently waiting by the sounds of his noisy breathes. But Crocodile couldn't help but freeze, his mind racing for other options while a large portion of it began to panic over the ache. It was frustrating, but no matter what he did he couldn't quiet that dangerous thought that kept erupting in the back of his mind.

_Would it even work?_ He stared down at the boy's underwear, spotting the bulge against the thin fabric, feeling his own body react to the sight of it with heat and a rapid heart beat.

He still wasn't sure. "Bed," he muttered.

Doflamingo looked relieved. "Yeah, that's a good idea," he replied. Crocodile said nothing in return, letting Doflamingo go ahead of him, nearly tripping over as he pulled his pants the rest of the way down before going at his top. He approached the situation carefully; choosing his top first, his eyes resting on Doflamingo once the boy was sitting on the bed, naked, waiting to receive the missed affection.

Doflamingo covered his face, fingers spread out as Crocodile undid his pants. "Are you going to keep on with the fingers?" he asked, his voice incapable of hiding the excitement.

Crocodile wondered how it must have felt. It certainly was an option. He gave only a shrug in response, listening as Doflamingo groaned, flopping back into the bed.

"You're killing me," the teen groaned. He spread his legs wide, exposing his self to Crocodile, not seeming to care how obscene he appeared. "I swear, if this is your way of just letting out more steam…"

"It's not," Crocodile said. He stopped and realized that he had sounded so nervous saying the words. Doflamingo, still resting on the bed, turned his head and looked upwards at Crocodile.

They looked needy. Crocodile could see how bad Doflamingo wanted it too.

His teeth pressed together. Crocodile pulled his pants down, walking over and getting on top of the bed, at first hovering over Doflamingo, but lowering himself so that he could rest on top of the boy, immediately rubbing his self against Doflamingo. Their lips met again, and Crocodile wanted to shake his head when he felt Doflamingo smiling against him. He began stroking the boy's penis, rubbing his thumb against the moist tip, feeling the body underneath shake and jerk under his firm grip. Hands grabbed his hips. Crocodile felt himself stiffen from the contact, feeling Doflamingo trying to push him off to the side. He told himself to remain calm, not let his own thoughts get the better of him, and let Doflamingo guide him so that the two were resting on the bed, facing one another, Doflamingo's hands now capable of reaching down and pleasing the young man's neglected parts.

This was a little too intimate for Crocodile's taste. It was nothing more than some mutual masturbation, but seeing Doflamingo blushing and stupidly smiling at him, getting off at the way his hands gripped and massaged the penis, along with those blasted fingers rubbing Crocodile, made everything feel a a bit too personal. And Crocodile knew what was going on _down there_ , and he had to figure that Doflamingo could tell as well. He almost wished that one of them would mention it, even though it would kill his pride.

"This is hot." Doflamingo inched his way closer, still giving them the space necessary to move and pleasure each other. Crocodile winced, not feeling quite the same. Was he talking about _this_ , or something else? Was he talking about _below_? Crocodile's eyes stared down, but could not see anything other than the boy's chest. He grew nervous.

"Are you ok?"

Crocodile looked and realized that Doflamingo had stopped, that he had slowed down, and that the stupid smile was nowhere to be seen. The blond inched further, bringing himself right up to Crocodile's pale face. "Did I go too far?" he asked. Another stupid question from the stupid boy. Of course he hadn't gone anywhere near _that_ area. Crocodile would have noticed right away, and would have reacted. It pissed him off that Doflamingo didn't even sound remotely annoyed. It made him so angry.

"No," Crocodile finally answered. He felt warm liquid in-between his hand and the shaft of Doflamingo's penis. Doflamingo had to feel liquid as well. There was no way he didn't notice what was going on _down there_.

"Do you…want to stop?" This time Crocodile could make out some disappointment. But that was to be expected. And Crocodile really didn't want this to end, no matter how uncomfortable it made him feel.

_No_. Crocodile stared at Doflamingo, feeling his chest fill up with icy fear, thinking about how unfair it was that he had been born with nothing to give, designed only to take. And even though he had undergone so much work, and would undergo more in the future, it didn't change the fact that there was, and always would be, a desire to receive and take it all in. And it made him sick to his stomach to think that he wanted to take it right now.

"No," he said, looking away dismissively. He swallowed and felt how dry his throat had become. He lifted his leg, moving it forward, not high enough for Doflamingo to catch on what as on his mind, but enough for the boy to react, grab it gently, his hand going straight back between the legs, probably under the assumption that more friction was needed. Crocodile had to look back at Doflamingo, who was now preoccupied with a new task, and had to stop him, feeling his hands tremble as he shooed Doflamingo's away, moving closer and watching Doflamingo's eyes fill up with minor confusion.

He pressed himself against the blond. Doflamingo had no problem with it, but still appeared lost, and Crocodile's pride wouldn't let him utter what was on his mind. He shifted his leg, letting it rest against Doflamingo, hoping he could just get what he wanted without having to admit it. This was already difficult. He exhaled through his nose, running a hand through his messy hair, trying to breath out all the anxiety out of him before looking Doflamingo in the eye. He stared back, eyes on Crocodile, at their incredibly close proximity of one another, his nose flaring a little before letting on that he understood.

He let out a low chuckle. Crocodile could only guess how long Doflamingo had waited to get permission to enter, but dismissed the thought. And then he felt the hands slide up his leg, shivering in that very childish manner, because although Doflamingo might have been fantasizing about this moment, there was no changing the fact that he was probably just as nervous as he was. Crocodile felt the erect organ press against him. He felt his face burn. Something inside him flipped. Doflamingo's eyes lidded, his mouth opening and letting out a soft moan as Crocodile felt that gash between him spread and split, the tip touching moist hot flesh, and so very close to a part of the young man that he had worked so god damn hard to ignore.

And it scared the hell out of him. Suddenly Crocodile felt nothing less but overwhelmed, frightened over his choice, and realized that he wasn't quite ready for this. Doflamingo moved in to kiss him on the lips, and Crocodile couldn't help but look away, feeling his throat tighten and his mind fill with white noise.

Maybe it was the setting. _Stop._ Or maybe he was better off receiving this sort of affection from the rear end, or just not at all. "Hey." Hands reached out to his chin, trying to pull his face over to that neglected kiss. _Stop it._

He swatted the hands away, pulling his leg back in as he tried to regain a more calm demeanor to better explain himself. He felt Doflamingo persist, reaching out again, only for Crocodile to be forced to push the hand away once more.

He sighed, feeling confused and miserable. Doflamingo touched him again. He closed his eyes, trying to think up a reason for why all this had occurred to begin with. Doflamingo whispered something, but he paid little mind to it, still brushing away naughty fingers in hopes of having a moment's peace before being forced to explain why he had pussied out. And then Doflamingo nudged closer. Crocodile would have made comment regarding the blond's intelligence, but was distracted by a hand grabbing on to his, hoisting his wrist up, the other on his leg, spreading it and practically holding him into place, and no sooner was he aware of Doflamingo grasping on to him did he feel the boy's cock press against him, pushing, spreading, splitting, tearing him in half.

He had expected there to be some pa– _No more, please._

… _Why? Why did we love him?_

He chocked, reflexively _No_ grabbing on to Doflamingo, feeling his eyes burn, welling up with tears _Stop_ that he had no control over. _Why think about this now?_ He couldn't quite bring himself to respond. His mind

_No._

_Why are we still thinking about him?_

_No more._

* * *

**-Now-**

Doflamingo's eye's fluttered open when he heard the sounds of footsteps on stairs. He was thirsty. He blinked a few times, and noticed that his eyes were fixating in tiny light fragments, which meant the light had been turned on for Miss All-Sunday.

He remained in his current position, keeping his breathing nice and slow, trying to mimic sleep as best as he could. Doflamingo listened to the sounds of the weight being pressed against the stairs. A strange thought occurring when he noticed something was amiss with the sound. The girl had been wearing boots with heels, and she had been so quick and light on her feet. The footsteps he heard were harder, smoother, and seemed to drag, as though the intruder were creeping their way down. They weren't a woman's step, that was for sure, and it made him very nervous to think who might be on the other side of his restraints.

He heard the heels click against the concrete floor. Doflamingo's mouth opened a little, tasting some clean air that made it's way through an open door. With it he could tell that all decomposed remains really had been cleaned out of the room, and he simply hadn't grown accustomed to the taste of death and gore. A good sign, but still worrying.

The footsteps continued, circling around his body before coming to a halt in front of where his head lay. Doflamingo closed his dry lips together; feeling that foreboding sensation hat something horrible was amiss. He remembered Miss All-Sunday mentioning a boss. His nosed flared and he suddenly could detect something bitter in the air that reminded him vaguely of cigarettes but stronger, heavier.

He heard something flick, metal clinking against metal, and felt something warm land against the bag that was pressed against his cheek.

"I know you're awake."

The voice was low. It was a little hoarse, but the sound of it, low and dreadful as it was, rang deep inside of Doflamingo's heart, and filled it up with every emotion under the sun. He might have smiled, but then he remembered the situation he was in, and no sooner did he realize that he was bound up, face covered in darkness, did the worst feeling consume him.

His body shook, and Doflamingo couldn't help but rub his wrists together, hoping to feel them magically come undone and save him from this premature reunion. Of course, they remained tight around his irritated skin, and felt his bottom lip ache when he bit into it, listening to the low, slow chuckle that rang above him.

Staring out into the almost-darkness, Doflamingo forced a smile on his face. "Forgive me." He cringed when he heard how terribly shaken his voice was. "But…I never imagined any reunion between us working quite like this."

"Oh?" Doflamingo almost heaved when he heard a sound from above. He turned his head upwards, his good eye catching the growing shadow, determining that the body right above him was coming to a squat. He stared up, amazed at how what little light that permeated through the musty old bag created a veil, and even then, the light that surrounded the form above him...it was almost like staring into a heavenly silhouette.

"I thought you were dead, Crocodile."

He could smell the burning tobacco wafting through the air, sinking through the rough fabric and filling his nostrils. There was a soft, low sounding sigh. He watched the shadow reach out and grab the bag from the bottom, yanking it up and exposing Doflamingo to the dull light of the room.

He squinted for a few seconds, giving his right eye a few seconds to adjust before staring up at the figure that was now standing, practically towering above him. He stared at the worn out scar, the dark hair, the golden eyes, _that golden hook_ , and what had to be the most frightening grin he had ever laid eyes on.

"Surprise," Crocodile muttered, exhaling a long stream of smoke through his grin.

**End Part 2**

 


	18. Self Made Psycho

- **Part 3-**

**-Now-**

Crocodile had been aware that he was getting into risky business when he decided he’d try making a small fortune taking what was already-made product, changing the brand under the name of Baroque Works, and reselling it at a higher value.

He remembered the worst feeling in the world, perhaps worse than what had happened to him when he was a child, when he had been torn apart by everyone that he had placed trust into. That had been an incredibly difficult day, but not nearly as the day he was tied up, blindfolded, and dragged across the desert in the trunk of one of Whitebeard’s many fancy, old automobiles. Crocodile remembered thinking to himself how special he was, to have warranted a ride in such a luxury vehicle, that he was worth the older man’s efforts to be taken out and executed by his own hands.

There had been a lot going on in his mind at that moment, aside from the car ride. Crocodile was sick to his stomach, dehydrated from being locked away for some time, and he was sore and swollen all over from being beaten by Whitebeard’s men. Worst of all was the injured pride. Crocodile couldn’t bear to even bring himself to acknowledge the acts of molestation that went on, and how quick it took for the men to find out what he was missing, what made him such a peculiar subject of torture, because now they had nothing to cut off, and instead were left calling their boss, asking what to make of the man. It was at that moment Crocodile realized he would no longer be treated as an ordinary subject, and it made him sick, and all throughout the ride in the trunk that sickness inside of him grew, until he was left distracting himself with the idea of car rides and how he would have liked to be able to afford such a nice car, assuming he lived after this.

He remembered being pulled out of the trunk, barely catching any light in his eyes through the blindfold they had tied around his head, and the sickness grew as Crocodile heard remarks being made about him, _again_ , and what a strange thing he was. Spanish was lathered in-between English, but Crocodile recognized that the word “man” never came up.

He was dropped on the hot, hard desert ground. His face was stinging, his pride vanishing, and his entire being aching all the more when everyone around him laughed, until it finally went silent. There were heavy, slow footsteps, and even heavier breathing, by him and those around him, and his blindfold was removed, and standing before him was the infamous drug lord.

Crocodile could not forget the fear.

He could not forget the cruel laughter directed at him, the way Whitebeard stared down at him, letting the young man know the exact reason why he would be let off this _one time_ , and that he ought to return back to America, _tail between the legs_ , where he’d be better off, and safer too.

He could not forget the treatment he had undergone as well.

Since castration was not an option, Crocodile was held down by Whitebeard’s men, his left arm stretched out in front of him, and he got the most wonderful view of his wrist getting crushed by the giant man’s boots, grinding and rubbing it against the painfully heated floor, until Crocodile had no choice but to react and scream out in pain.

He was pressed further, his stomach against the barren wasteland, several men keeping his arm out, mocking him, poking fun at him, reminding him to never mess with Whitebeard territory, and his head was lifted up by the roots of his hair, and he stared at Whitebeard crouching down at him, a large machete in his hand and a smile so sick it made Crocodile wish the man would have just killed him. 

He could not recall the exact moment the blade tore his already bruised and bleeding wrist. Just having the warlord grab hold of his hand had put him into enough shock and pain that even comprehending the world around him became an impossible chore. At some point the large blade began to saw through the bones, and Crocodile was brought into semi-awareness again, this time watching blood spurt from a gaping wound, his hand limp as Whitebeard ripped through muscles and ligaments holding it all together.

And then it ended. Just like that, and as soon as it did, Crocodile began to notice the intense, indescribable pain shooting up his arm and into his chest, running up and down his spine and causing him to dry heave every breath he took. Whitebeard said nothing more, other than to call his men back in the cars, and left Crocodile to shake and twist on the ground, his body convulsing as it became more aware of its terrible predicament.

What made it worse was that the blade had cut so fine, even through the bone, and that Crocodile could see a town not too far off in the distance. His bloodshot eyes stared out and he could spot the figure of civilization. It was not a poor town. There would be hospitals. 

The cars drove off in the opposite direction, building up a storm of sand, leaving Crocodile to rage at the miserable fact that he had not been left to die, but purposely made left to survive and undergo the misery of being left alive.

That was the consequence of getting caught.

And Crocodile survived. He survived the ordeal, but he refused to leave the country, and decided to settle down and procure several more properties once he was out of the hospital.

He understood there would be risks, and he got caught taking Whitebeard’s gold, and he had learned the hard way the importance of not getting caught.

So he told himself he would not get caught again, and with the newfound wisdom, and the memory burned deep into his mind, Crocodile expanded Baroque Works, took everyone’s hard work and twisted it and made it his, and he did not get caught.

* * *

 

And then he got caught, again.

Crocodile stared into the bathroom mirror, resting his fingers on the light bags that were beginning to develop under his eyes from lack of sleep. Halfway through the day, adding to a total of almost thirty hours, and he had achieved two hours worth of rest. Not sleep, but light rest, and brought on by physical exhaustion. After some mental persuasion, he brought himself to clean his face, wash warm water through his hair and fix himself up for the rest of the day.

It was hard to keep a straight face when you knowingly fuck up. It was harder to try and make it appear as though it had always been part of the plan.

Crocodile walked out of his bedroom, right hand struggling to tidy up the left side, pulling up the cuff as best he could. He hated the way the sleeve dangled now. Crocodile had enough issues with wondering how clothes would look on him. He was tall, broad, and didn’t carry a shapely form like most, but the act of dressing had always been an uncomfortable experience. The dangling, messy look of his left sleeves privately drove him insane, reminding him of Whitebeard and the fact that he had gotten caught, _again_. 

Again! Crocodile would have laughed if he could, but after buying himself a nice car, a few extra suits, some cigars, books, kitchenware, and a garnet ring, he was finding it difficult to look at his fuck-up as being a simple mess-up. He had already lost a hand. He had been given his warning.

And it had been three days since.

Crocodile sat down in the middle of a sofa, surrounded by all the wonderful decorations he had supplied himself since he had started his business.  Everything was new, expensive, and it all belonged to him. The house was paid for. The Italian leather was all paid for. Each ring decorating his right hand was his. The car outside was fully purchased on the spot, much to the dismay of the company attempting to make profit from it.

And now Crocodile was wondering what would become of all his things once Whitebeard and his men made their second appearance.

There was a solid, single knock at the door. Crocodile relaxed into his seat, letting his stare become lidded as he brought himself to slowly inhale and exhale, fixing into a nice pattern, and forcing himself into a calm state. He heard the door open. Crocodile reached out to his side and opened a small, furnished wood box, and took a cigar from it.

“Mr. 0.” A cold and collected voice called and made its way into the living room. Crocodile pulled out a lighter, letting his eyes rest as he placed it on the side, cutting the tip from his cigar as the sounds of footsteps grew closer. 

The pseudonym was for practical reasons. Crocodile despised the idea of getting close to others. He had learned the mistake of making friends, giving away secrets, and allowing certain weakness to arise. None of his associates, save a certain woman, knew his real identity, only referring to him by the number he had assigned himself.

Naturally, power structure worked a certain way, and Crocodile was aware of the identities of his more active agents. Beyond a certain number, Crocodile couldn’t care less, but certain people under him were worth learning the names of. At the very least he would only come into possession of more power by having their information memorized.

Finally, after the walking ceased, and after the silence in the room grew to a thick, unbearable still, he asked, “What?” 

Crocodile looked up at the large, dark man standing in front of him, arms crossed, looking almost uncharacteristically impatient. Daz Bones. He gave the man a very prestigious title, and seeing him staring down at him with such an unusual look left a sour taste in Crocodile’s mouth.

He brought the cigar to his lips. “This better be good, _Mr. 1_.”

“Miss All-Sunday has procured a hostage,” the man answered.

Crocodile shrugged, bringing the lighter to the end of the cigar. “Wonderful,” he muttered. “And what am I to make of that, exactly?”

Daz remained at attention, pupils resting on Crocodile’s relaxed shape. Crocodile was pleased to see that he wasn’t giving any mixed signals. It was hard enough keeping his thoughts straight.

Daz let a frown form at the ends of his lips. “The man in question claims to be the maker of the cocaine we came into possession of several hours prior.”

Crocodile could barely even recall such news. He was sick to his stomach around that time, coughing up whatever he put inside of him as he worried over his survival. He had been wandering around the bedroom, pacing back and forth, waiting to get a call from an unknown caller, letting him know that death was around the corner.

Now Crocodile took in a deep, almost drastic breath as he stared over at Daz, looking almost bored of the news. “And?” he asked.

“He and a few of his associates have made a mess at the warehouse,” Daz answered.

The warehouse being one of many expensive two-story bedroom homes, each one located at the center of a very nice, _quiet_ neighborhood. Crocodile liked having his power and product in plain view. He’d have it on full display if it were possible. There were risks to hiding drugs and stolen arms in the middle of nice neighborhoods, and now Crocodile was getting yet another taste of what might occur if he didn’t take every little potential consequence in to consideration.

“What’s the damage?” he asked, letting warm stream of smoke trail out of his mouth.

“None of the associates were killed,” Daz responded.

Crocodile made sure not to jump up from his seat. “What?” he also made sure to keep his voice as flat as possible, not letting on that this news was the last thing he needed after three days of high-level stress.

“We have his product in our possession,” Daz continued. Crocodile could make out the small droplets of sweat beginning to develop on the man’s forehead.

It looked as though things were getting out of hand. Crocodile refused to believe he had hired numbskulls to perform the simple task of loading a bullet into another human’s head. How was it possible that his subordinates could fuck up on such a procedure?

“Everything is compromised,” he growled. He took his cigar and placed it on the ashtray, letting his chin rest on top of his hand.

“We have him as our hostage,” he heard Daz point out. As if that changed anything.

He stared at the smoke floating from the tip of his cigar. “Which warehouse?” he asked.

“The one on Rainbase Avenue,” Daz answered.

He felt the bottom of his eyelid twitch. “And Miss All-Sunday?” he asked.

“Is waiting on your orders,” Daz finished. Which meant she was alive and well, and could be punished for allowing this to happen.

Crocodile liked that house. He had given it to Robin with the expectations that she would take care of it for him. She was supposed to live in it and keep up appearances. There were a lot of nice things in that house. He bought her a lot of nice things! And now he was supposed to just accept the fact that he might have to abandon it?

“She has his mobile phone,” he heard Daz add. “If you’d like, we may try reaching his–" 

“Let the bastard rot,” Crocodile grumbled. He dismissively waved his hand over at Daz, no longer caring for the topic.

He got caught taking and selling Whitebeard’s property. The location of his favorite warehouse was compromised. Robin was in need of some punishment.

Today had reached its low point. Crocodile took his cigar, feeling the need to distract his anxiety with nicotine and heat filled lungs.

“You can leave now, Mr. 1,” he muttered, letting his stare hit the ground.

“Would you like to see what we were able to collect from the mules, sir?”

Crocodile inhaled. Right, Robin still had her uses.

He looked back at the large bounty hunter and let his harsh stare ease a few notches, just enough for the man to know he was fine with this one suggestion. Daz left the room in silence, leaving Crocodile to mull over his unlucky position in the universe for a few minutes more, before Daz reappeared with a large duffle bag.

He carefully placed the bag in front of Crocodile, unzipping it and showing off the contents inside. There had to be well over two hundred pellets. Although he was sick to his stomach, Crocodile couldn’t help but be impressed. He leaned forward and took one with his hand, hoping to admire it up close. A closer inspection showed that the quality of the casing wasn’t too impressive. Crocode suspected a constipated mule would end up with a serious overdose with how thing it looked.  The pellet itself was rather large, the shape less than perfect. If Robin hadn’t done away with the mule, odds were passing it would have been more than uncomfortable.

“Beginner’s work,” he commented. Quantity aside, this was not the uplifting news he needed. He tossed the pellet back into the bag and reclined back into the couch.

“We had Mr. 3 test the purity.”

Crocodile wouldn’t have cared were it not for the change of tone in Daz’s voice. The man was not known for being expressive. And at that moment he informed his boss of the test, Crocodile could detect just a dash of excitement in Daz’ voice. He pulled his cigar away from his chapped lips, giving him a better view of the giant man’s smirk.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“It’s high quality stuff,” Daz answered. “Not as pure as Whitebeard, but pretty damn close. You’d think he was in contact with a Yonko or something, that’s how nice it was.”

Crocodile pulled his lips in as he reevaluated the pile of filled pellets.

“Mr. 1, where’s this chemist from?”

“American,” Daz answered. “He has the same accent as you do.”

Someone from the west? And this chemist had made so many mistakes since he–no–since before he had even arrived.

Crocodile counted the errors in his head. The mules had been left unoccupied. The mules had been taken to the warehouse and had been cleaned out. The casings were uneven, at risk of bursting. The fact that Crocodile possessed these pellets meant that they had failed to be sent to the proper buyer. And the chemist, not someone better equipped to kill, was sent. There has been a shootout. And now the chemist was in his custody.

Was it just an American thing to screw up? Because if that were so, then Crocodile would be allowed a moment to relax, just a for a second to emotionally catch up with himself and compare this mess to whoever was stupid enough to have all of _this_ happen.

“There are no American Yonko,” Crocodile stated.

There was that Irishman that Mihawk was in cahoots with. Shanks. Was it possible? That little redhead that Mihawk had taken under his wing so many years back? And hadn’t that man grown up not too far from where he once resided? Last he heard, the guy left the states to set business in Europe. At least that was what Mihawk said. Shanks could be doing anything right now, with the power he had achieved in the last few years. Mihawk had said the man could very well be replacing Whitebeard in ten years or so…was it possible Shanks might be involved in this?

Crocodile was sure that the odds were close enough to zero for it to not matter. He also was under the impression that Mihawk would have taken the liberty to warn him about such matters, should they actually spring up.

Could it possibly be Yonko product?

He looked down at the pile of cocaine filled pellets. Crocodile had sampled Whitebeard’s drugs before. He was going to get assaulted sooner or later, the least he could do for himself was get high and–

No, this was not an option. Crocodile silently chastised himself for letting his mind wander and rest on such juvenile thoughts. He was better than this. Things were not going his way, but Crocodile knew he had the ability to control himself. 

“This is as good as Yonko product?” Crocodile stated aloud.

“Yes, sir,” Daz replied. “And the man said he was the one who had made it, so–”

“I wonder what Whitebeard will have to say about that,” Crocodile proclaimed, staring down at the bag and its contents.

“Sir?”

Crocodile would not admit that he had fucked up. He practically denied that it was a mess-up on his part at all.

But after so many days of waiting, it was starting to get to him.

He had taken Whitebeard’s product, again. He didn’t even know it was the warlord’s until after selling several pounds of the damn stuff under his name, and it wasn’t until he had received a wonderful note from one of Whitebeard’s men asking him if they were going to receive the money he had earned selling said drugs did Crocodile realize the horrible mistake. It was one thing to screw up and sell Whitebeard’s product after getting caught before, but doing it again, and not even knowing about it until after he had been caught: that was painful. It stung his pride. It made him sick. It was impossibly embarrassing.

And Crocodile didn’t want to die.

He had so many nice things.

He had survived worse situations before.

Crocodile knew he couldn’t die. He was incapable of such a thing!

He could not die. Not yet.

He came up with his plan.

“I’ll make an offering to Whitebeard,” he announced. He felt his heart rate speed up the moment he finished his declaration to Daz.

Perhaps these drugs, along with the man who had cooked it all up, would save him.

His heart eased. Crocodile refused to let it show.

“Understand, Mr. 1,” Crocodile muttered. He was sure his subordinate would not question his choices, but Crocodile needed to prove his point. He needed to hear it for himself, for it to sound absolutely perfect, and for Daz to agree with it. It had to sound correct. And it had to be done without sounding suspicious.

“This territory belongs to a man who is hell-bent on weeding out any potential competition,” Crocodile said, knowing full well that his subordinate already understood this.

“However,” Crocodile said, more to himself than to Daz, “providing Whitebeard this man, as well as his product, might distract him from gathering any further information on Baroque Work’s movements.”

“You think Whitebeard may view this guy as a potential threat?”

Crocodile let his middle and index finger rub against one another and listened to the sounds of metal clicking loudly.

It didn’t really matter if the hostage was a threat or not. For all he cared Whitebeard could take the man in and make him into one of his cooks. Crocodile just needed the old gizzard to be distracted long enough to get out of trouble. If he were really lucky, the offering alone would be enough for Whitebeard to forgive him for making such an error.

Crocodile doubted it. But it was better than sitting around and waiting for Whitebeard to make his move against him. Crocodile needed to change. He needed to adapt around this problem, and soon.

“Perhaps,” he answered. “Considering the old man’s relationship with the other three, notably with Kaido and Big Mom, it wouldn’t surprise me if he took the man in and made him one of his own.”

His mouth was dry. He needed a drink.

“Whitebeard is getting older,” he went on, continuing to assure himself that he was in the right, "and Whitebeard needs to work harder in order to maintain his territory and influence. He’s going to need more than his precious boy’s club to keep him on top.” There were more fingers rubbing and more clicking between the two rings. “And he might appreciate the offer.”

“So…a potential ally?” Daz muttered. The smile on his face alerted Crocodile that his henchman was agreeing to this idea of his. Crocodile would have been proud of himself for having come up with such an idea, but every word he had uttered since waking up was covered in a thick layer of lies and self preservation. 

Crocodile seriously doubted he’d ever be allowed a potential candidate for a comrade. He had called it a “boy’s club” for a reason. Not that Crocodile required such things. He didn’t need help, nor did he want a Yonko breathing down his back. He just wanted the warlord out of his way.

Whether this cook ended up joining the ranks or getting killed for producing and attempting to sell in Whitebeard territory mattered little to Crocodile. The man just wanted to live and enjoy his many things.

Daz looked down at the bag. “Shall I have someone make contact with one of Whitebeard’s men?”

“No,” Crocodile almost snapped. Daz raised his head up, looking alert. “That certainly won’t be necessary,” Crocodile growled.

“Sir?”

“I’ll be the one arranging all the details,” Crocodile insisted. He got up from his seat, taking his cigar along with him, letting it play between his fingers as he gave himself a second to bring himself back to his weary self.

He brought the cigar to his lips and inhaled again, letting his slow words leave a nice trail of smoke as he walked out of the room, “I’ve a few words I need to say to the man anyways…you can just go and have all that unwrapped and packaged.”

“And the hostage?”

Crocodile cackled. “Our cook?” he asked.

The American cook who wandered down to Whitebeard territory, hoping to make a quick buck, now trapped in Crocodile’s basement, possibly fretting over his own existence. The mules Robin had ensnared for him had mentioned something about heading east. Crocodile had not taken in all the little details. He had been so sick to his stomach at that point. He was still feeling sick, almost to the point of his mind creating cramps where they ought not to be occurring. But the fool had gone all the way down south in order to get his drugs back. And now Crocodile would have to consider moving several things out of Rainbase. But losing a warehouse was better than losing a life. This cook might very well lose his life.

What could he possibly say about such a man?

Crocodile looked down at the cigar in his hands, feeling more ashamed of himself for letting such a mistake occur.

He was lucky this man had come down.

It made him feel just a little bit better about his situation.

And now Crocodile would take advantage of that man’s misery in order to not mentally dwell on his own. “Tell Miss All-Sunday that she needs to interrogate the man.” Crocodile brought the cigar back to his thin lips and took another deep inhale of the strong fumes. “There is a lot about this man that we don’t know about…and I’d rather gain some information on our American friend before sending him off to Whitebeard.”

Crocodile headed back to the direction of his room. He’d need a special prosthetic for this occasion, and he had just the right one in mind. “Who knows,” he added, feeling a long, cruel smile form, “he might very well be related to someone famous…and then we’d have something worth selling off to the warlord.”

He managed a small chuckle before shutting the door behind him.

* * *

 

Crocodile managed to stop himself from smacking Robin across the face when she appeared at the front door, opening it and letting him pass through without so much as a flinch when he turned and faced her. 

But then she started talking. From the moment the woman opened her mouth, it seemed like all Crocodile could do was keep himself stiff and still, barely holding on to himself as she began to relay all the information she had collected about their hostage. Never had there been an instance where Crocodile wanted to break from his regular, passive composure and just grab the woman and throw her across the floor, step on her beautiful face with the sole of his shoe and watch her calm demeanor break. He wanted to rip her apart. He wanted to punish her for ruining everything. He quite liked this neighborhood, and had given her this warehouse because he liked it so much. It was a nice house. A nice neighborhood, and it had such wonderful things inside of it. How could she have let this happen?

But…

But Crocodile stood at the door to the basement, letting his hands rest on the knob as she stood behind him, just inches away, her svelte form an arm’s length away from being grabbed and attacked, should he decide to simply let go and have his way with her.

“Mihawk?” he asked.

“He called the man,” Robin said. Her voice was so unlike its usual self. It pissed Crocodile off to no end to have her voice shake. He hated her for letting that side of her show. She knew better!

“And?” he added, bringing his hand away from the knob.

“Your name came up,” she replied. “They both spoke of you as though the man already knew of your presence.”

He told himself that Robin had done her job. She successfully interrogated the man and gathered the information necessary for Crocodile to inflict the right judgment and make his next move. There was no reason for him to make a remark about the information she had received, no matter how much is disturbed him.

But…

“Mihawk and Kaido,” Robin stated in disbelief. “It seems almost…impossible to conceive, no?”

Crocodile looked over his shoulder and eyed the young woman.

Of course it was impossible to imagination. Mihawk was already in a perfect relationship with another dangerous man, one far younger, and halfway across the world. Mihawk would never send...no, it wasn’t even possible. None of this was real. This was all a…

But…

“Are you quite sure you got the name right?” Crocodile asked her. He had wanted to sound as threatening as possible. He sounded weak. It made him sick. He wanted to grab her and forced her to the wall. He wanted to prove himself more than ever who he really was, and all he could think about was the last time he and that boy had been together, how weak and pathetic he had allowed himself to become.

He had made the mistake to let someone in, and now he was suffering from it. He was still suffering from it, years later, and would continue to for the rest of his life, so long as he retained that memory of being torn apart by _him_.

 And he could not forget such a memory. “Doflamingo Donquixote,” she said aloud.

Crocodile wanted to hit her right on the mouth for saying that name. She was a pretty little thing, and the last Crocodile desired was to have his favorite things engaging in disgusting behavior. Robin had no right to say such a despicable name. She was already in enough trouble for letting a bunch of drug dealers follow her to his house, and letting them run amok and destroy his window. She would have to be dealt with later, once this was all over, or just enough for Crocodile to think straight and find an appropriate means of punishment. 

Perhaps after he had several of his men clean out this house.

Crocodile sighed, turning away from her and back at the door. “Doflamingo…called Mihawk?”

He had trusted Mihawk to keep quiet about things.

“Yes,” Robin answered. “And according to what you’ve already mentioned, that man is working under Shanks.”

Crocodile nodded his head. “We’ve nothing to fear,” he said in a half-lie. “Mihawk has no interest in working with Kaido.”

“Are you suggesting I’ve been tricked?” she asked, sounding a little offended by the idea.

“No."

No. Doflamingo wouldn’t just come up with that name. Nobody would. Kaido was a mysterious man. Nobody would just throw his name out in a conversation without considering what might occur afterwards. If Doflamingo was really here, and if he had the gall to bring up such a name, then that meant Doflamingo was in far greater trouble than he was.

But…

But this made little sense.

Crocodile was already in enough trouble with Whitebeard, a powerful, well-known name in the drug business. What were the odds of Doflamingo would get himself in the same mess, and with a man so influential in the black market?

And what were the odds of them being here, together, under the same roof?

Crocodile liked to believe this was the only reason he didn’t want to open the door. The idea that he might be entering a situation where he’d have to deal with not just one, but two different Yonko, frightened him. He already knew he lacked the resources and subordinates to bring down Whitebeard. Kaido was a whole different story.

And he sure as hell didn’t believe for one second that Doflamingo was a cook.

Yes, that was it. Because, no matter what was on the other side of the door, Crocodile knew he would be in a greater position of power. Robin had told him how she had treated their honored guest. She had told him of the damaged she had done.

Crocodile felt his smile tremble at the thought.

“Thank you for your time, Miss All-Sunday,” he uttered out. It almost hurt to speak. “I need you to contact several of our frontier agents and have them clean this place out while I make my final decision on the hostage situation.”

“Yes sir,” she answered back.

“Contact our officer agents and inform them that they’ll need to be prepared, should I decide to contact Whitebeard,” Crocodile added.

But…but if it was Doflamingo?

He heard Robin begin to walk away, her heels sounding treacherous to his frail mind. And then they suddenly stopped. “Anything else?” he heard her ask.

If it was Doflamingo, and he was in trouble, and he sure wasn’t worth the effort trying to offer up to Whitebeard, and Crocodile had nothing to give the man, not that the trade was guaranteed to work anyways, what then?

What would he do to assure his survival then?

“That will be it,” he answered.

He waited for her to leave the vicinity before he hesitantly grabbed the doorknob again, letting it grow warm in the palm of his hands before shaking his left arm, feeling the weight of his golden hook hang from his side.

Crocodile turned the knob and opened the door, breathing in a foul smell, and stared down into the dark room. His mouth watered, and his nostrils flared. He would have to make a point to have this basement cleaned out if he was to proceed with any enactments of torture.

It was silent. Crocodile leaned in and stared into the dark room, unwilling to turn on any light source. He told himself it was unnecessary. He took a step inside of the basement, letting his shoe rest on the first step of the stairway. There was a bit of creaking, which unsettled him, so much so that Crocodile had to stop and remind himself who was in control, who was in power. It felt good. Good enough for him to flick the lights on and continue from there.

By the third step down he had a decent view of the limp body that had been left in the middle of the room. Even with the chair in the way, he could make out the long, thin legs. He saw the unusual choice of clothing and felt himself grow increasingly uncomfortable.

Another step down, and he saw the blond hair stained with dry blood. Crocodile stopped himself, holding onto the railing as he let the image burn in his mind. The small pool of blood collected around the head made him wonder if maybe the man was dead, and then he’d nothing to fear other than the eventual loss of his own life. But he could already tell some light breathing was taking place, which meant that Crocodile had no choice but to press onward, feeling his legs grow heavier and his step more forced as he continued to make his way down.

By the time he had finished making his way down Crocodile was no longer looking over at the limp body.

He already knew it was Doflamingo. It had to be Doflamingo. Fate wouldn't have allowed it any other way. And even though Crocodile was destined to never be free from that man's grasp, he couldn't instantly bring himself to look him in the eyes. Instead he stared at one of the walls, letting his hand linger at his side, at the holster and the handgun he had on him.

It wasn’t the same handgun he had threatened to use on Doflamingo. This gun was brand new, and unlike the handgun he had bought so many years ago, this one had the privilege of actually being used. And this one was expensive. And it looked so nice. But Crocodile almost wanted to call for Robin and have her fetch his old, unused, waste of money, illegally purchased handgun and wait for Doflamingo to wake up, just so he could shoot the rest of his face off with it.

But guns were quick. If he were to face Doflamingo and those demons, then he’d have to take another approach. Crocodile wanted to make a game of this. So he removed his hand from the gun, leaning and resting against the wall of the small room, turning his head slightly to catch a glimpse of the man’s legs.

It reeked of rotting flesh and stomach acid, and the knot in Crocodile’s stomach was the only thing keeping him from throwing up what little he had in his stomach. He supposed the rancid stench was best. Disgusting acts ought to be performed in equally disgusting settings. There was a reason why the house he dwelled in held no secrets, and a reason why he had Robin live in this one.

Another slight turn of the head, and he captured more of the man’s mangled image. He shivered. This wasn’t like him. He was stronger than this.

But…

Crocodile removed himself from the wall and turned to face Doflamingo’s resting form. The man was bound to a chair. There was blood covering the entire left half of his head. Crocodile couldn’t really tell, but it looked as though his left eye socket had received some serious damage from the fall. It looked purple. Swollen.  Crocodile would need to get closer in order to determine whether stuffing a finger into Doflamingo’s eye would be worth the fun or not.

Either way, he’d stuff something into the man.

Crocodile felt his bottom lip tremble. His legs began to shake.

He took a step over, and then he realized he could make all sorts of delightful holes all over Doflamingo. He noticed how much Doflamingo had grown since he had last seen him, and suddenly Crocodile was wondering how well a potential trade with Whitebeard would even go. Assuming Doflamingo was even a cook to begin with, and the two of them weren’t completely screwed by their situations, what were the odds Doflamingo would save him from certain death? Whitebeard already warned him about selling in his territory, and the man wasn’t one to provide second chances. Crocodile had the unluckiest luck in the world to be offered the opportunity to live, but only after having hands travel all over him, after losing his own, and having men mock him and tell him that he’d never be like them.

Crocodile could feel a grin spreading and hurting across his face as he stopped right in front of Doflamingo. The poor man was passed out, unsuspecting of what horrible things were in store. Or maybe Doflamingo had an idea. After all, this room was filled with all sorts of man-made devices that Crocodile had amassed over the years. Even if Robin had only kept the lights on for a minute, there would have been enough time for Doflamingo to take a look at what had happened to the drug mules lying limp on the table.

Crocodile’s golden eyes looked around the room, fixated on all the disturbing paraphernalia that he could inflict upon Doflamingo.

He could make Doflamingo regret ever having come into existence.

But!

There was always the small chance that Doflamingo was a genius, and that the drugs that were in Crocodile’s possession had been made painstakingly by him. All he had to do was ask. It wouldn’t hurt. And Doflamingo, despite being a fool, couldn’t deny that it was better to live under the cruel reign of Whitebeard than it was to die by Crocodile’s even crueler hand. Maybe the two of them could reach some kind of agreement. They were adults.

Crocodile dropped to his knees, causing a small stir from Doflamingo, but not enough to wake him from his deep rest. With his only hand supporting part of his weight, Crocodile was left with the hook to reach out with, letting it carefully hover above Doflamingo’s face for several seconds, Crocodile unsure of how to proceed without the use of touch, before letting it drop down to make contact with the face.

The hook made contact with the cheek, and Crocodile saw how much thinner and angular Doflamingo had become since he was sixteen. The jaw was formed. The body muscular. Not as thick as Crocodile’s, but still impressive. And although Doflamingo was in a fixed sitting position, Crocodile had a hunch that the young man was taller than him.

He lifted his hook away. Crocodile blinked and noticed that he had lowered himself further, that he was closer to Doflamingo, and that a few of his hairs had gone out of place, and his heart was racing, his mind growing lighter, only filled with sick ideas of where to penetrate Doflamingo and with what tools, and that horrible, unbearable, longing that was taking place between his legs.

“I guess we’re going to die then,” he rasped, feeling his entire being shake with some excitement as he let his gaze rest on the left half of Doflamingo’s bloodied up face.


	19. Obscene Encounter

**-Part 3-**

**-Now-**

Crocodile placed the syringe back on the table. The heavy dose of painkillers would assure that Doflamingo remained unconscious while he had his men remove the bodies in the basement.

In the end, Crocodile chose to have the basement cleaned. Doflamingo's blood reeked in his mind, but it intermixed with the foul stench of rotting corpses, ruining whatever pleasure he could derive. As grizzly as the scene was, Crocodile needed the bodies removed. They were getting in the way of real fun. Their smell covered everything, and would continue to once he began tearing his way through Doflamingo. He couldn't have it overpowering him. And the blood. There was blood everywhere. Doflamingo's, and those unfortunate mules. He didn't want all the different fluids blending. Doflamingo's blood needed to remain separate. Crocodile couldn't explain why. It was a maddening desire.

Robin stood by the stairs. She stared down at Doflamingo, up at Crocodile, and then at the hand towel he had in his possession.

"Cleaning him up for processing?" she asked.

"He's staying here," Crocodile answered. His hand squeezed the moist towel. 

"The drugs are ready to be sent to Whitebeard," she commented. Her voice was low; afraid of any additional consequences Crocodile was considering laying on her. "He'll want to know who made them."

Crocodile looked down at Doflamingo. "Tell him I have the man in my custody."

"He'll want to meet him," Robin replied.

Crocodile sneered at her. "I'll let Whitebeard have his way when the time comes."

She sniffed. People were going up and down the stairs, careful to avoid certain contact between Crocodile and Robin. Nobody dared to acknowledge the vague conversation, even less the man lying in the middle of the floor, dried blood covering his entire body.

It was frustrating. Crocodile wanted nothing more than to inform Robin that he would be keeping Doflamingo in his possession for as long as he could make the man last. Not even in private would he dare bring himself to admit such personal desires. It was made all the worse with the nameless subordinates going through the house.

"Get over here," Crocodile demanded.

Robin took small steps over to him. She rested her heeled boots gently against the floor, stopping herself from making too much sound. She was careful, moving around Doflamingo's body, not coming into the slightest contact. Crocodile liked that about her.

She stopped in front of him. "Yes, Mr. 0?" she asked. He didn't appreciate the look she was giving him. He despised that he constantly felt he needed to prove himself in front of her.

Crocodile shoved the towel into her hands. "Clean him up," he ordered.

"Fine." She stared down at the man resting before them. "And then what?"

He didn't want her touching Doflamingo. Crocodile insisted to himself he could handle her dirtying her hands with his blood. He needed to prepare a few things. Calls still needed to be made. Daz might like an update.

More importantly, he had to prove to Robin he was in control.

Crocodile huffed. "That's none of your concern," he growled.

She said nothing. Crocodile grew angrier as she knelt down and began to analyze Doflamingo's bloodied face. He didn't want her touching the unconscious man. Crocodile told himself he could handle this. Robin would clean Doflamingo up. She would prepare Doflamingo, for him. Doflamingo wouldn't ruin her, and she certainly wouldn't ruin him.

Robin's covered hand hovered above the forehead caked with dried blood, and Crocodile suddenly grew nauseous. He clenched his teeth while making his way over to the stairs.

"Where you going?" she asked. Her soft voice teased his ears.

He looked over his shoulder. "I'm getting something," he answered. He felt uneasy. "Something to bind him."

Her hand gestured at the chair that Doflamingo was so intimately attached to. "He's already bound." She almost sounded offended, as though he was suggesting she had done an inferior job.

Once again, there were too many people going in an out of the basement for him to even consider hinting his true intentions with her. He wanted Doflamingo free from the chair. He wanted to see the man crawling around. He desired to have Doflamingo capable of some movement, if only to tease him with the possibility of fleeing.

"Don't get smart with me," he warned.

Crocodile left the basement in a hurry. He made enough noise that he was almost positive that he had awoken the man. Crocodile continued to rush through the household, his steps too rapid, and the sound of his shoes hitting the floor too hard. And then there was so much commotion already going on. It was an excess of various distractions, and Crocodile was shaking as he continued into Robin's room, sure that Doflamingo would suddenly awake, and everything would be ruined.

There was nothing else to look forward to. Crocodile opened the door to the warm, clustered bedroom that he had given Robin. He passed by a table piled high with various texts and novels, stopping in front of her closest.

He opened it and stared into the colorful, expensive array of clothing he had amassed for her. His left arm grew heavy as his right hand slid across the collection, stopping when it came into contact with something long and soft. He grabbed the purple fabric and pulled it from the hanger. Crocodile rubbed his fingers against the silk scarf. It would be too thin for hands. Doflamingo would find a way out wriggle out of that. Crocodile threw the scarf over his shoulder. He examined the closet and pulled out a light top with long sleeves.

Feeling satisfied, Crocodile made his way out of Robin's room, stopping at the door and giving the bed a short stare before slamming the door shut. Crocodile felt inadequate as he went over to the kitchen. He stopped in front of the knife display and played with the buttons on the shirt. He waited for the feeling to subside, and tugged the top button, thinking about the bed, the clothes, and the blood covering still covering Doflamingo's face.

People were still going through the house, carrying bags filled with human remains. It was a time consuming process. Large bags attracted the wrong attention, as well as too many people going in and out of an otherwise nice house, in a neighborhood not used to getting so much attention. Crocodile sniffed the air. The kitchen would need to be freshened up later. He sighed, pulling out a knife as he imaged the long day ahead for Robin.

The hook made certain tasks harder. Crocodile knew he might have been better off pressing a stump against the shirt. Heavy as the weapon was, its smooth texture made grabbing and holding things down near impossible.

It looked nice though.

He brought the knife down on the shirt, using whatever force he could summon from his left side to help tear through the fabric. Crocodile cut through the bottom portion, so Doflamingo wouldn't have anything to grab hold of.

He stared at the mangled shirt. He ruined Robin's top, just so he could tie it around a man's wrist. Crocodile couldn't help but estimate the price of the destroyed wear. He had done worse to her. He wondered if it was worth her being mildly disappointed at the loss. Robin had a way of showing distaste. It was subtle enough for him to ignore, but apparent enough for him to want to do something about it. Crocodile tugged the shirt, letting the fabric stretch under his force. He feared he was letting certain feelings get to him.

Why not rope? Crocodile thought. It would certainly be a struggle to tie a knot with one hand, but Doflamingo was unconscious. Robin was here. She could tie the knot for him, if things didn't work out well. She had done it before, what would be stopping her now? Not Doflamingo. It wasn't like he could put up any sort of struggle.

Crocodile squeezed the fabric in his hand.

He left the kitchen, taking the top and scarf with him.

The air in the basement wasn't nearly as heavy as before. Crocodile made his descent, this time more careful with the noise he produced.

Crocodile stopped right behind Robin's kneeling body. She had a first aid kit resting next to her. In her hand was the towel, now filthy with a combination of sweat, dirt, and blood.

"What's the damage?" he asked.

Robin continued to dab around the man's eye. "He won't be seeing with that eye for a while," she replied. "The entire area is incredibly swollen. I wouldn't be surprised if the retina retained some damage from the impact of the fall."

Crocodile wrinkled his nose. "Can he feel pain?"

She placed the towel on the floor, resting both her hands on her legs. She stared at Doflamingo's cleaned up face. Crocodile kept himself in place, reminding himself that there was no reason to turn and peer over Robin. He didn't need to see what Doflamingo looked like without a layer of filth. It was just Doflamingo. Crocodile could guess how well he had aged based upon his last viewing, blood coated and all.

"I imagine so," Robin answered. "The area bleeds with enough pressure applied to it. There doesn't appear to be any dead or dying tissue."

Crocodile looked over at the first aid kit. "What's this?" he gestured at it with his hook.

"I'm under the impression Whitebeard will want Doflamingo to appear looking semi-decent," she said. She pulled out some cotton balls from the kit. "And the area is incredibly bruised…something needs to done, otherwise he'll risk losing sight in the eye. Permanently."

Crocodile didn't recall giving her permission to prepare him for Whitebeard. He looked around the basement and saw that the two of them were alone.

"Is something wrong?" she asked.

Crocodile looked down and saw her staring up at him. "No."

"I'm going to see if I can bring down the swelling," Robin announced, pulling out some bandages form the kit. "You can choose to gouge his eye out later, if you think it'll help. But right now…"

"Excuse me?" Crocodile snapped. He crossed his arms. "What are you insinuating?"

"Nothing," Robin calmly replied. "I'm merely letting you know my intentions. I need to keep the swelling down right now, to give his left eye a chance. But if you disagree, then you can go ahead and do as you please with it."

Crocodile huffed.

"And I know you have a way of doing whatever you want, despite my given warning," she added. She looked at the ruined top he still held in his hand. She went back to soaking cotton balls in foul smelling liquid.

They were all alone. "You have nothing else to say?" he asked her.

"You're the boss," she stated. She pulled out a small pair of scissors. "And I'm left to assume every action you perform is in our best interest."

Crocodile bit the inside of his lip.

"You must really believe the offering to Whitebeard will work," Robin said. She cupped her moist hands together. "This sudden offering."

Crocodile looked up at the open door. He could hear movement still taking place above them. The officers were still inside of the house, ruining any chance of real privacy. It didn't matter. He couldn't explain his reasoning to her either way.

"What will you do when he asks for the name of the cook?" she asked.

Crocodile let his left arm sway. He felt the tip of the curved end hit his side.

"I will provide a name." He watched her look up at him. Her eyes held something in them that pissed him off to no end.

"And when they ask for him?" she pushed. Her tone suggested just the slightest hint of confusion. He wondered if she was afraid. Robin was a woman with a curious past. It left her dependent on him. Another thing he liked about her.

But now he frowned. "That's not something you need to concern yourself over."

She smiled up at him." Of course not."

Crocodile didn't know how to react to it. He gripped the destroyed top, his chest filling up with too many different feelings. He couldn't process it.

Robin proceeded to point at the rope that bound the man to the chair. "Shall I do the honors?"

Crocodile huffed again. His face was warm, and he threw the scarf and ripped top at her. "Don't wake him up," he threatened. "I don't have time to deal with this right now."

"You're a busy man," she muttered, removing the purple scarf that had landed on top of her. She didn't appear the least bit bothered by his action. "Would you like me to leave the chair down here?"

He walked over to the stairs. "I don't care."

"I'll leave it." He watched her get up and made her way around Doflamingo's limp body. Crocodile had to stop and stare. "And once I'm done binding him up with these…" She lifted up the scarf and spread the cloth so Crocodile could witness the elaborate decorations. "Is there anything else I should do? "

Crocodile's lips curled inward when he saw the scarf flutter in the room. There were no drafts. Robin was attempting to make a point.

"Cover his head," he answered.

"Of course." He saw her smile through the thin fabric.

Crocodile had to leave the room again. Somewhere in his mind there was a sickness that got worse with every step he made leading back upstairs.

He rested in the living room. He sat down and waited for all the lesser officers to clean out and leave the house.

Crocodile waited for absolute silence. He opened the windows and let some of the smell air out, just enough to not attract the attention of any neighbors. He kept his eyes on surrounding houses while he waited for Robin to show herself. He waited for more sounds.

He knew that the trade with Whitebeard wasn't going to work well, not with only a small amount of drugs. As clean as everything was, sending out Daz to make the trade was an incredibly risky choice. There was nothing stopping any of Whitebeard's men from shooting him down. There was nothing stopping them from kicking down the door right now and shooting him right now.

Robin appeared, the small kit in her hands. She said nothing as she passed through the living room, keeping her eyes averted from Crocodile's.

He reclined further into the seat. He tried to imagine how the trade would fare, if things did go according to his hastily made plan. Whitebeard would want Doflamingo. Crocodile could save himself the trouble if he just gave Doflamingo up as an offering.

Why was he so greedy? What did he gain from having Doflamingo here?

Crocodile rubbed his index finger and thumb together. He licked his bottom lip. He was craving nicotine.

* * *

 

_Now?_

Something inside the pit of Crocodile's stomach told him it was time to go back down. He turned and looked over at the open window. It was dark.

_Now._

Daz had sent a text about an hour ago. Crocodile placed his cigar on the ashtray and picked up his cellphone. He checked the time, again. He stared at the last text he had received and furrowed his brows, wondering what was taking the hit man so long to provide him more information.

Well…what could it hurt for him to check up Doflamingo?

Crocodile plucked the cigar and placed it back in his mouth. He stood up. Robin poked her head out from the kitchen.

"Are you going to eat?" she asked.

Crocodile ignored her and made his way over to the basement door.

"Whitebeard takes his time with these things," Robin's voice irritated his mind. "Priorities come first. You cannot expect Mr. 1 to send any new information."

She was trying to stall him. Crocodile sighed and opened the basement door.

Why did she think he needed to be stalled? Crocodile was in control. Robin knew nothing. She had no idea how important this was to him.

Crocodile slowly made his descent back down into the basement, this time clicking on the light. Right away he heard something. Breathing. Hard breathing. He took the cigar from his mouth and allowed himself to grin down at the body curled up on its side.

Doflamingo was playing dead rather well. The breathing was slow, a little slow to appear real And every other breath resulted in a slight shiver. Crocodile continued down the stairs, feeling his face ache with from smiling.

Doflamingo couldn't feign sleep forever.

Crocodile let his heels hit the floor with enough force to earn a loud enough exhale from Doflamingo. He circled around the body. The chair was gone, and Doflamingo's was curled, already going on the defense. He caught a glimpse of the man's lower back and refrained from chuckling when he caught the sight of bruises covering the spine. Robin had done a wonderful job restraining Doflamingo, then and now. He could see how forced into position he hands were. Fingers were retracting. Doflamingo couldn't pretend any longer.

He stopped right in front. There was a bag covering Doflamingo's face. With the blood washed away, the delicate cloths keeping him bound, and the corpses removed, Crocodile could see how much the thing stood out.

Crocodile flicked his cigar and let some of the ash fall and land on the sack covering the man's head. "I know you're awake," he growled. His voice was surprisingly low.

He watched Doflamingo's body shake underneath him. His heart skipped several beats as he concentrated on every move the body underneath him performed. The wrists rubbed against each other, trying to rub and wear at the scarf keeping them bound together. He watched the legs attempt the same move. He watched Doflamingo exhale into his bag.

Crocodile chuckled.

"Forgive me." He watched Doflamingo flinch at his own voice. Crocodile lavished every shake. "But…I never imagined any reunion between us working quite like this."

It was as though every word was a struggle. But then, Doflamingo knew exactly whom he was talking to. And the very fact that the man struggled to bring himself to speak was a sign that he knew what was up. Doflamingo couldn't pretend anymore.

"Oh?" He could barely keep from hiding the excitement in his voice.

Doflamingo twisted beneath him. He watched the head turn up. Crocodile could imagine how frustrating it must have been for Doflamingo. He had been in similar situations before. Not knowing what was going on was a terrible thing to experience. He almost felt bad witnessing Doflamingo's personal struggle, like he was prying into an intimate scene.

Crocodile carried his cigar between his finger and thumb, letting the tip press against his moist lips. His stomach was starting to feel empty. Days of barely eating like a normal human being, and now he was finally feeling something.

The man heaved. "I thought you were dead, Crocodile."

He brought his cigar back into his lips. He licked the tip.

Dead? Crocodile had told Mihawk to keep his whereabouts a secret. Had Doflamingo been under the impression that he had been dead the past several years?

It was…offensive. He should have asked Mihawk to be less vague. The fact that Doflamingo thought his actions warranted such an…extreme result had Crocodile privately raging. He had done ridiculous things before. He had tried to end his life before. He had failed. He could not die. How dare Doflamingo think he was special, warranting that kind of reaction.

Crocodile let smoke linger and pour out of his mouth. He knelt down and grabbed the bag, yanking from Doflamingo's head and tossing it across the room.

"Surprise," the man scoffed. The remaining smoke washed out from his lips and spilled across Doflamingo's weary face. Fear collected on the man's adjusting eyes. Crocodile grinned. The man had every right to be afraid. After everything he had done, Doflamingo had no right to feel or express anything else.

Doflamingo squint his eye. "Holy shit…"

Crocodile leaned forward.

"What…" Doflamingo stared up. He blinked. "When did you get the hook?"

Crocodile brought himself back up and walked over to the corner of the room, where Robin had left the chair.

"Wait…tell me your hand's in there," Doflamingo coughed out. Crocodile smirked when he heard something scuffle around on the floor. "Fuck…those clothes. Damn Crocodile, you got some nice clothes on." Shoes kicked the floor. "Too bad about the blood, I'm actually really nice myself. But dang, that's a nice look on you…"

Crocodile grabbed the chair and dragged it back into the center of the room with his hook.

"Like, this is really nice. This thing you got going on here," Doflamingo continued. "Even this little room of yours."

Crocodile set the chair right in front of Doflamingo.

"Look at you," Doflamingo laughed. He rolled on to his back and grinned up at Crocodile. "You got yourself a nice little house. A shiny hook. I'm mean, sure, no hand, but the hook is really nice. And you got a pretty girl, oh, and _by the way_ , fuck her."

Crocodile sat himself down, crossing his legs and smiling down at Doflamingo. The man wriggled on the floor, trying to give himself a better view. He had a smile on his face. Crocodile couldn't tell what sort of smile it was. The excitement in Doflamingo's good eye made it so hard to tell.

"…Crocodile?" Doflamingo muttered.

He stuck his cigar out and let some ash fall on the floor, just missing Doflamingo's face. For some reason, Doflamingo was not expressing fear in the manner he would have preferred.

"What?" Crocodile asked.

"Please tell me this is your handiwork," Doflamingo replied in his shaky voice. He shook his head. Crocodile stared. Doflamingo shook his head again, wincing.

"Your eye?" Crocodile muttered.

"Yes," Doflamingo said. His undamaged eye twitched. "I'm all bandaged up now. A little woozy too…"

"The drugs should be wearing off soon." Crocodile inhaled. He looked over at the walls and stared at the selection of tools he could choose from and torment Doflamingo with.

"How kind."

Crocodile blew out a trail of smoke. "Miss All Sunday's work. Not mine." He watched Doflamingo produce a small pout. "She suggested I keep you fully intact, until the issue with Whitebeard is settled."

"Yes, that woman of yours," Doflamingo grumbled. Crocodile didn't find any enjoyment when he watched the thin man struggle with his binds. "Please, Crocodile, I need to know…"

Crocodile held in a chuckle while Doflamingo rubbed his legs together, trying to loosen the binds around his ankles.

"Tell me you're not…the two of you," Doflamingo went on. He winced again and turned on his side. "I don't think I could forgive you for that."

"She's really good at tying knots," Crocodile answered. He reclined in his seat. "Amongst other things…"

"Oh," Doflamingo said. He sounded incredibly disappointed. "Oh, you see. I didn't want to hear that. I didn't need to know that." He wrinkled his nose. His one eye watered a bit. "Dang, you see…I don't know how I'm supposed to feel about that."

"About what?" Crocodile inquired. He continued play with his cigar.

Doflamingo laughed. "I've gone and put you up on one hell of a pedestal," he said. He grinned up at Crocodile. "You see it's really my fault. But the idea that you'd just go and..." He actively began to fight his binds. "That fucking pisses me off."

Crocodile shrugged. "I'm sorry I don't live up to your expectations." He couldn't sound any more sarcastic.

"Oh, no, no, no!" Doflamingo went on. "You're doing quite fine, save for that Sunday chick." He jerked his legs, trying to undo Robin's binds. Crocodile was impressed the man had such strength after being locked down in the basement for so many hours without food or water. "Everything else here is lovely!" Doflamingo stopped, giving himself a moment to catch his breath. "You did…an amazing job, Croc. I wouldn't…have expected anything less."

In his struggle, Doflamingo had managed to inch his way closer to Crocodile. Not by much, the distance between the two had dwindled down.

"Right," Doflamingo struggled. He kept the smile on his face. "So, this thing with Whitebeard." There was no hiding the shakiness of his voice. "You want to maybe let me in on that?"

Crocodile was thankful for it. "I've sent a man to offer your product to Whitebeard and his company."

He needed that wonderful reassurance. He was barely able to keep himself from jumping off the chair and having his way with Doflamingo, not with that unbearable attitude of his. Every other comment he made pissed Crocodile off. It was becoming harder to remain the better man.

Doflamingo frowned. "What?"

"And Miss All-Sunday wants me to keep you in good enough condition," Crocodile continued. "Should Whitebeard show some interest in the quality of your drugs." He stared at his cigar. It was almost used up. He looked down at Doflamingo, who was staring up at him with a wide eye. "Personally," he added, "I don't see much use…I have a hard enough time believing you might even know how to make cocaine, let alone decent quality cocaine."

"I don't," Doflamingo admitted. "It's just my name on that stuff…"

So, the trade would end up a failure. Crocodile closed his eyes, letting out a soft sigh as he let his mind rest on the only sure thing left.

"Oh dear," Doflamingo muttered. "I've gone and ruined things." He nervously chuckled. "Your boss wont be so happy about that…don't tell me you promised Whitebeard that you already had me in your possession?"

Crocodile removed his leg form the other, spreading his legs a bit while he repositioned himself on the chair. "I don't work for that man." His voice was harsher.

"My mistake," Doflamingo said. He nudged himself even closer. Now he was only inches away from Crocodile's legs. "Actually, it makes sense. Loads of sense. I have a hard time imagining you working for someone else…"

Crocodile grabbed his chair. With the strength from his legs he pushed himself away from Doflamingo. The chair produced a loud creak that echoed in the basement. He cringed at the long groan.

Doflamingo squint his eye and let out another shaky laugh. "Nah, you're not about to work under anybody, not even a Yonko. As crazy at it sounds, I see you trying to work against him."

Crocodile stared at the small droplets of sweat beginning to develop on Doflamingo's forehead. He stared at the end of his cigar.

"Of course," Doflamingo continued, "I can't help but wonder why you'd make any sort of offering to Whitebeard." Crocodile looked away, back up to the door. "And Miss All Sunday got me all cleaned up. Eye too. How sweet."

"Any trade is s a good trade," Crocodile muttered.

"And yet, here I am," Doflamingo said. "Down here, when we both know damn well I could be on my way to meet the famous warlord…"

Crocodile stood up and walked over to a small trash bin. He tossed his cigar in it, not caring that it was still burning. He heard Doflamingo utter a low chuckle behind him. It made his face blush. Crocodile flared his nostrils, waiting for the heat collecting on his face to ease, and for Doflamingo to stop all that noise.

"…you miss me," he heard Doflamingo declare. "I'm tied up here for a reason. You just gotta have me for yourself."

"You ruined a lot of things," Crocodile said, turning around and staring down Doflamingo with a threatening look. "I have an impression to make."

"I believe it." Doflamingo shifted his shoulders upward. "But I don't believe you'd make a trade with a warlord without a good enough reason. Tell me, what did you do to piss off Whitebeard?"

Crocodile just about to head back to his seat when Doflamingo had the misfortune to ask that question. He stopped himself, and then turned and stared at the wall adorned with various weapons.

"Miss All-Sunday mentioned something about Kaido," he murmured, letting his eyes rest on a metal pole. "Care to let me in on _that_?"

Doflamingo laughed. "Oh…you know," he cackled. "Any trade is a good trade."

Crocodile slowly made his way over to the long selection of tools. Robin did make an excellent point about not being too rough with the hostage. Doflamingo just lost any intrinsic value now that he had admitted he was no chemist, but that didn't mean Crocodile couldn't make the most out of him. And Doflamingo could survive bruises, better than he could several drilled-in holes.

"You pissed off Kaido?" Crocodile asked, staring up at the wall.

"You started it," Doflamingo answered. He hummed out another sigh. Crocodile let his eyes wander the wall, counting the second sit took for Doflamingo to summing up the strength to continue. "I'll admit, things were not going as planned right from the start, but I'd have managed, were it not for that woman of yours."

The honesty of the answer was bad enough. Doflamingo's voice was no longer shaking, but giving up all this information as a matter of fact, like it was ordinary news, made it so much worse. It made it impossible to celebrate.

"So then," Crocodile said, reaching out and grabbing the pole hanging from the all. "We're both screwed?"

"Not necessarily." Crocodile heard him make some more movements across the floor. He was beginning to wonder if giving him this much freedom was a good idea. He was already beginning to regret it. Doflamingo was such a pest. " We're in trouble, but I imagine I have some time to get packing. Japan is a very far away place. Kaido needs time to send his men over…"

"A shame that you'll never know when it hits," Crocodile said, turning around. He lifted the pole up, letting Doflamingo take a good look at it. "With a busted phone? You'll never get the call from your men informing you of your failure."

Doflamingo raised his head up as best he could, staring up at the long, dull pole held in Crocodile's hand. If he was afraid, he wasn't letting it show.

"You know," Doflamingo began, "they're probably on their way down here."

"Your men?" Crocodile asked lowering his arm.

"Yes," he replied. "A good friend of mine saw what happened to me…there is no way he'd simply let this stand." He inched his way closer. "Other than my right hand, I've got three excellent men probably planning an attack on this house."

"I was told there had been no calls."

"Fufufufu!" The laughter made Crocodile's mouth go sour. "Well," Doflamingo said. "They're not about to waste precious battery life, are they? What's the point? Ruins the surprise attack!"

"You're so sure they'll come." Crocodile took the single step needed to being himself close enough to Doflamingo. "You place so much faith in your subordinates."

Doflamingo was paler than he remembered. There was a light tan coating his skin, and the bright colors he chose to adorn emphasized the dark tone. But Doflamingo was pale. He was sickly pale. He was running out of time.

"They'll come." Doflamingo rolled on to his back and stared up at Crocodile. "And when they do, you're going to wish you left my face looking good…"

Crocodile raised a brow. "Excuse me?"

Doflamingo laughed again. He used his shoulder to wipe away a tear. "Seriously, Crocodile!" He sighed, opening his eye. "Do you think I'm going to let you get away with this? As wonderful as this reunion is…you've gone and ruined everything! And I do mean everything. I had all this amazing stuff planned out, from drugs, to selling people, to making a name for myself in the black market."

He coughed, and Crocodile could tell that just speaking was becoming painful. The medicine was wearing off. It wouldn't be long before Doflamingo struggled to speak.

"I was planning on finding and procuring you for myself," Doflamingo said. "I'd have someone sniff you out, and then I'd buy my way back inside of your…" He paused, watching Crocodile make a look of disgust at him before chuckling and continuing, "heart. I'd win my way back into your heart."

Crocodile's hand stung as it gripped the pole. "Such a ridiculous plan."

"But now you've ruined it all." Doflamingo's voice was shaking again. Was it the pain, or was he upset? Crocodile needed to know. "And now I'm going to have to make some kind of example out of you. Otherwise, my buddies will think I'm hopeless, and I can't have that."

Crocodile raised the pole up, pressing it against Doflamingo's chest. "Will you make an example of me?" He laughed. "Hilarious. You? While you're tied up on the floor?"

Doflamingo smirked. "I said I'd have you for myself." The words slurred out and made Crocodile anxious. He wanted to take another step back. Doflamingo blinked, wetting his single eye. "And now that I have you here…I'm going to make sure that we do not get separated again."

Crocodile snorted. He poked Doflamingo's chest with the pole, using enough force to earn a heavy grunt from the tied-up man. "And how will you manage that?" he taunted. "What will you do when I choose to leave?"

He watched Doflamingo's smile ease, and then form into a frown. "Well, obviously, I kill you for being disobedient." He sniffed, wincing with his eye. "But…as far as I can tell, you wont be leaving this room. Not now. Not while I have this much control."

Crocodile shook his head. He nearly dropped the pole in favor of covering his mouth to muffle some of the sounds of his laughter.

"You?" he mocked. He jabbed Doflamingo in the stomach, this time Doflamingo stopping himself from making any sounds. Crocodile didn't appreciate it. "You think you're in control?" He knelt down, bringing his hook close to Doflamingo's face. "Did you forget where you are? Why you're here? Did Miss All-Sunday forget to mention the things I've done to people who piss me off?"

Doflamingo tried moving away from the hook. He made a small grin, and this time Crocodile could tell it was the pain beginning to hit and soak his wakened nerves. "Yes, well…all I really need to do is survive your tantrum, and then I get to enact some necessary punishment back…" He heaved in his next breath. "…But you won't leave. I know you wont. We'll leave this room together, alive, or one of us dead…but you will not leave until I let you."

Crocodile leered, pressing the end of his hook up to Doflamingo's chin. "And what has you thinking that?"

Doflamingo's only eye began to water. The painkillers had left the body. Crocodile waited to see if the man would sniff, cry, wriggle around in agony at the pain Robin had inflected on him.

Instead, Doflamingo forced a grin on his face. "We've played this game before, Crocodile."

Crocodile sneered. "What?" he asked.

Doflamingo's grin spread further. "Every time you so much as lay a finger on me…I'll fight back. With words. And I'll make it hurt so bad…because I know your weakness."

The threat certainly felt familiar. Crocodile couldn't remember the details, but he did recall Doflamingo saying something along the same lines, once before. But right now Crocodile saw a man, tied up at the wrists and ankles, weak without food or water, drained of some blood, and possibly dying after hours of enduring pain.

The threat was meaningless.

He grinned back at Doflamingo. "A finger?" he stated before raising his left arm and brought it down, smacking the base of his prosthetic against Doflamingo's head.

Doflamingo hissed in pain, curling his body as the only means of deflection. Crocodile stood himself up, picking up the pole and taking a step back to take in the glorious sight of Doflamingo writhing in pain, barely able to stop himself from screaming out.

"There's my response to that." Crocodile nodded his head at his own statement. The man beneath him whimpered some more. He looked up at the door and figured he might as well rub salt into the wound and leave Doflamingo to suffer some more in silence. With other sensations coming alive, he'd go back upstairs and have a quick meal before coming back down and tormenting Doflamingo some more.

"Fu…fufufu." He heard Doflamingo struggle out a laugh. "Look at you…"

Crocodile began his trek back up the stairs.

"All those pretty clothes…the rings, and that hook of yours," Doflamingo continued, sniffing out every other word, "and you're still the same, scared little boy. No, wait…you didn't use that word."

Crocodile stopped midway.

"Fufufu. I remember," Doflamingo said. "I remember what you called yourself. Do you? You must, since you were so upset."

Crocodile dropped the pole and held on to the stair's railing.

"…I'm sorry, if it matters," Doflamingo went on. "I shouldn't have gone and did that in the first place. But, hey, you know, I was horny. And you sort of gave the impression that it was cool."

Crocodile's lips curled. He bit into them, tasting some blood.

"And, to be fair," Doflamingo hesitantly added. Crocodile was already heading back down the stairs, passing the pole, eager to stop Doflamingo from finishing the sentence. But he was too late. "You finished all around me." He was always too late with Doflamingo. "I don't think I'd have been able to cum myself, were it not for that wonderful feeling."

Crocodile's leg shook. He stared down at Doflamingo, who was now looking up at him, now frightened, but obviously proud of himself for proving his point.

"Tell me," Doflamingo purred out. _No. Now. Do it now._

Crocodile raised his foot up, letting Doflamingo get a good look at the soles and heel of his shoe.

"Does that girl of yours come close to getting you to–"

He brought his foot down, and this time Crocodile made sure Doflamingo screamed.

* * *

 

**-Then-**

The sun was setting low, and the air within the luxurious home was growing cooler. Doflamingo's room was perhaps the only exception, refusing to let go of the collected body heat from a few hours ago.

Crocodile remained in the bed, covered completely in sheets. The heat from the bed had dissipated, and the moisture evaporated.

Crickets were chirping outside. In this weather. Crocodile covered himself up to the eyes, trying to make sense of himself. He stared out in the direction of the door, where he had last seen Doflamingo wander through. His toes curled for the umpteenth time, cramping and sending up a dull pain up his legs. It traveled as far as stomach, where it withered and camouflaged behind a blinding sensation that lingered all around Crocodile's lower region.

Nothing could remove it. It was still there. It was an immeasurable pain that would not leave. Crocodile was sure the actual pain had gone, subsided naturally with the development of hormones released during any sort of sexual intercourse. He longed for its return. He could handle the dry, ripping sensation over this hollow feeling deep inside, made sicker and fuller with the knowledge that Doflamingo had finished inside of him.

It was disgusting.

Crocodile refused to move from his spot. He didn't know what he was supposed to do with himself, afraid that standing would cause everything to fall out of him. That's what it felt like. Everything, from Doflamingo's foul fluid to his failing internal organs, was at risk of pouring out of his body once he stood up.

Crocodile covered his hot face with the sheets.

There had been some doubts in his mind about this body. Crocodile had undergone a transition young enough to not have to endure the horrors of a voluptuous, female figure. He was lucky enough to never have to worry about having his chest cut open and sliced apart. But it was the gash between his legs that had brought him misery. It had only happened once in his life, but he had experienced bleeding, and that had been enough for him to push and have that part of…not him removed.

It was never a part of him. It had been so alien and impossible to familiarize with. It was something that had just happened, right under his nose, without any sort of warning. It was his body rejecting itself for not becoming inseminated and filling up with life. It was everything Crocodile was against, stealing up nutrients and energy, existing inside of him just so it could bleed out like a dying animal.

Crocodile had it removed. He was told without estrogen, other parts would stop growing, and would even shrink over time. He was told the hole would dry up, cease to function like it did before. He was told so many things. Crocodile told himself it brought him closer to becoming real.

But now he was trapped in Doflamingo bedroom. Now he was miles away from home, and he didn't even know what he was.

He wasn't a man. Men don't get raped, that's for sure.

"Crocodile!" He heard steps in the hall. Crocodile closed his eyes, letting the warm air surrounding him bring temporary comfort. "Crocodile, my ears are burning. I think they're infected."

He brought his hand to his chest as he waited for Doflamingo to tear away the covers, expose him like before and take advantage of him at his weakest. Crocodile let it happen. He let feelings get in the way of things. He let Doflamingo pull him into the bedroom. He let this body fall for such a simple trap.

This is what happens when people let others in. He should have known better.

"Crocodile?" He heard Doflamingo drop down. He felt a hand press against the top covers, against him. "Are you awake?"

Crocodile opened his eyes, feeling them burn.

His eyes were dry, and he was wet and oozing from in between his legs.

"…You came." The boy sounded incredibly defensive. Other than that, there was no sign that Doflamingo might have felt bad about what had happened. Doflamingo was giving excuses. Crocodile sniffed. This meant Doflamingo felt bad about something. But was he feeling bad about hurting him? "Croco…hey."

Crocodile curled deeper into the fetal position. "Yes," he whispered, feeling his face blush with shame.

"My earlobes hurt." The boy rubbed his hand against the sheets and across Crocodile's shoulder.

Crocodile blinked again, feeling his eyes water, rejecting the comforting touch, and accepting the consequences for allowing himself to get so close to another person.

"Crocodile…" and now he almost sounded hurt. "They hurt." Oh, of course they do.

"We'll go buy something for it later," he grumbled. He wiped his eyes, feeling the blinding pain crawl up into his chest, laying there and making breathing difficult. "Just…leave. I'm tired."

It was a mistake he would never make again.

_Now. Do it now._


	20. Inside the Mind, Sucked Dry

**-Part 3-**

**-Then-**

Crocodile's finger pressed into the barrel of the handgun. The semi-automatic revolver had resided in a sock drawer since his last failed attempt at murder. Rather than stow it away in one of his moving boxes, Crocodile kept it around for him to manage and handle, as though he might use it on a given day.

The pain was still there, even after a week. Crocodile was sure it was a result of his mind crashing in from the traumatic effects of being held down and having Doflamingo shove his dick inside of him. Nerves continued to send a message that there was something wrong. A stretching sensation occurred deep between the legs, leaving Crocodile aching for relief. No distractions, heavy creams, or self-soothing could bring and end to the empty feeling of being used up. But the sickness didn't end there. It wasn't only a void inside of him that left Crocodile fingering the gun. Enough reminiscing left him feeling heavy, warm, as though it just finished happening all over again. He'd let his mind linger on the way Doflamingo held him down, breaths irate and thin body shaking, and the atrocious look on his face when it happened. There wasn't a warning, and Crocodile was stuck with spurts of indignity coating his insides, hot and impossible to remove without further penetration from his fingers.

Crocodile winced, bringing a hand down to his lower stomach, feeling a twinge of pain. There was nothing there, and yet he was sure he was about to bleed out. His left hand hung to the side, gun gripped tightly against his sweaty palm as he endured the impossible cramping taking place in his mind.

Doflamingo needs to die. The thought rushed its way down Crocodile's arm, sending a surge of energy along with it, giving the young man the inspiration to the lift the weapon back up. It wasn't too hard to think about. The boy betrayed him the worst way imaginable. Doflamingo knew his secret, knew the pain it caused him.

Doflamingo knew Crocodile's parents fought over him. Crocodile told him how they hated each other, how he made it worse with his existence, and how he considered killing his mother for a while, just to have her out of the way and extend his own progress.

He knew Crocodile grew up so sick of being forced to dress and act a certain way he brought a knife to his hand, misinterpreting the proper means to commit suicide, and sliced a gash across the palm of it. And he knew about the copious amount of iron pills he took in order to poison himself in another failed attempt to just have his way and do what he pleased with his own life.

Crocodile explained the fights he got into at school, and the reasons he engaged in them. Just to prove a point, or to ensure that certain pronouns were used around him, because anything less would set him off.

The violent thoughts that sometimes entered his mind, no matter how positive the day might have been, because there was always something that would piss him off, no matter how small. And there were drugs that would give him a mental high, and distract him from the anger, but that only lasted for so long, and after coming down the rage would still be there.

He told Doflamingo about the pain from being told there was something wrong with him, not just by his family, but also doctors attempting to diagnose him. By therapists who handed him a prescription, and by the licensed physicians who would hand him his needles and vial, the surgeons that would pokes holes in his sides and severe away feminine organs, and by nurses that would check his wounds.

The boy understood how Crocodile felt about his body. Even after the compliments were tossed in his direction, about loving the body, thinking about it, desiring it, placing fingers and mouth all over it, Crocodile still despised it. The hole between his legs being the worst of it all, the agony that would never end: he told Doflamingo he didn't want anything down there.

These were all brief conversations made between the two since Doflamingo found out. Small suggestions or hints that Crocodile would throw out, starting off vague, with just a few words, then working his way up to some sentences, until they had reached that point where Crocodile could bitterly laugh over his lifetime predicament, and Doflamingo would nod his head, smoking a cigarette, affirming to Crocodile that life sucked, and everyone was an idiot except for him.

But Doflamingo held him down, penetrated and fucked him despite his struggles to break away, not stopping until he finished, after they both finished, and then used Crocodile's shaking legs, muscular spasms, and temporary delight against him. It wasn't like Crocodile had any say in the matter. He didn't enjoy the lead up to those few seconds of sexual relief, nor did he appreciate the few minutes leading up to Doflamingo finishing inside of him. Did it matter that he finsihed? Was it pertinent to the fact that he wasn't ready for that contact? He changed his mind the last minute, and that should have been enough. It hurt. _It really fucking hurt._ _It hurt so much. It hurt. It hurt. It hurt. Hurt. Hurt. Hurt._

Crocodile brought his arm up and covered his eyes, feeling the collecting heat around his head as moisture began to gather at the edges. He sucked air into his lungs, held it in and waited for the pain to pass. The hand holding the gun shook, his hand aching as it clenched the weapon, burning hot in his tightened grip. He removed his arm and stared out the window of his room, now nearly empty. He took that could be stuffed into his car. He was going to leave tonight.

This would not be a good kill. Planning aside, Crocodile struggled to envision his grand plan without desires getting in the way. He knew he was going to shoot the boy in the face once he had the opportunity. Chances were this would occur in a public spot. Doflamingo's private sphere would make a clean getaway impossible, and Crocodile was doubtful he could wait and lure the boy into his room and get the job done.

He didn't want to get caught. Crocodile knew there were a few spot out in the open, but barren enough for him to get away with a murder. However, even with the knowledge of the surrounding land, there was still the question as to whether he would have the patience to take Doflamingo all the way out to the desert and do away with him. And by now Doflamingo must harbor some sense of worry for his past actions. The boy didn't let on that he carried any sort of guilt when he finished the act, but after a week?

More questions arose in Crocodile's mind as he walked over to his bed, grabbing his old backpack and stowing the gun away inside of it.

_One: Did Doflamingo carry any guilt, and if so, was it because he genuinely felt bad about the incident, or was it because he still wanted to leave with him?_

_Two: Assuming the later, what was he to make of such thoughts? Doflamingo had already shown his immature side on various occasions. If this was the case, then should he go about the execution in different matter?_

_Three: If Doflamingo is sorry…?_

_Four: Even if he is sorry, does it matter?_

_Five: But what if he begs? Pleads?_

_Six: Even better. People need to understand the reason why they're being punished. You leave a note for the parents to see once you run away, so they understand why you did it. Same with every course of action. How can people possibly learn without them being informed of their mistake?_

_Seven: However, assuming Doflamingo has indeed learned a lesson, begs for forgiveness, while also acknowledging that he was in the wrong, then should there be some consideration to allow him a second chance at life?_

_Eight: Since placing trust in another human being has resulted only with disastrous outcomes, why should a second chance at anything be allowed? Doflamingo's failure to stop himself from committing assault is just one example of what happens when you place trust in another person. The real question is this: why be so weak to consider a second chance an option?_

_Nine: Are you weak?_

_-Am I weak?_

_-If so, why waste the bullet on Doflamingo?_

_-Because…_

_-Maybe the bullet deserves to be lodged in the weaker mind?_

_-M–_

Crocodile stood in front of the telephone, his shoulder feeling the weight of the gun inside of his backpack, threatening to slide off him. His hand clenching the strap was moist, shaking with a building anticipation that arose at the final thought.

It was a thought that crept around the corner whenever things got out of hand. It arrived when he was seven, showed its ugly face again at eleven, and right now, just as it appeared that he no longer possessed any control of the situation.

It was a strange reaction to losing power. He fought to regain it by taking control of the only thing that nobody would dare try to place a claim on. Crocodile knew that Doflamingo wouldn't be willing to take his life.

The thought arrived, and right as Crocodile was consumed with a multitude of interpretive ultimatums, it left, and the strap slid off his shoulder. The backpack hit the floor, and Crocodile became alert.

He thought up his plan. He grabbed the telephone and dialed the number, staring out the window, and at the bright light scenery. Could he have Doflamingo dead by the end of the day? Crocodile was confident he could have everything he needed done before the sun set. He could be out of Arizona by tomorrow morning.

Crocodile brought the phone up to the his ear as he pieced together a list of materials he would need in order to active this feat. Shovel. Towel. Water. Alcohol, of the rubbing variety. Drinking Alcohol would also suffice. Light source. Flashlight? Fire? Help?

He heard the sound of the phone being picked up.

"Doflamingo," Crocodile announced.

The person on the other side of the line replied back, politely informing that they would get the boy in a moment. The phone was placed on its side, Crocodile feeling his eye twitch at the sound. His muscles broke into a small series of spasms as he counted the passing seconds, then the bullets, and then the strands of stray hair falling across his face because he was starting to shake with anger.

"Hello?"

The sound of Doflamingo's hesitant voice made Crocodile nearly drop the phone in favor of holding on to his stomach for a good dry heave.

"How's your ear?" he asked into the phone, voice filled the usual monotony.

"Ah," Doflamingo replied, already sounding calmer at the forced dullness in Crocodile's voice. "Well, it's getting better. It' not leaking. Not burning like some nasty rash."

Crocodile stared out the window, catching walking along the sidewalk. He licked his lips, the flavors in his mouth turning sour.

"That's good."

"I'm surprised you called."

Crocodile smiled. His stomach twisted into a tight knot. " _Are you_?"

"I figured you still might be pissed off at me," Doflamingo confessed, chuckling at the end. "You normally go weeks without saying a word, and I have to be the one to get you to start talking."

Crocodile brought a hand to his nose, rubbing and sniffing as he listened to Doflamingo go on, not detecting an ounce of regret or guilt in the boy's voice. He leaned against the small table, eyes staring outside, at the swaying trees, and passing cars, his ears taking in the sounds of Doflamingo's voice, but the words not quite reaching him. Somewhere along the way the language turned upside down, and things got mottled, mixed up, or numbed. The words coming out of his mouth carried no sound. Crocodile felt his lips part, his vocal chords releasing the vibrations that accompanied voice, but he couldn't place any clear answer to what was being said. It was made harder with this growing ringing. It started out faint, but with every passing second, Crocodile could hear it rise, grow sharper, irritating, almost painful to listen to, and it was consuming the words he as saying, Doflamingo was saying, and everything was beyond comprehension.

"What do you mean tonight?"

Crocodile wiped the sweat that accumulated on his forehead. What on earth was Doflamingo talking about?

"What?" he asked.

"You seriously expect me to get ready to leave by tonight?" Doflamingo groaned, his voice filled the offense Crocodile longed to hear up until this point. "That's not nearly enough time to pack my things."

Had he suggested they would be leaving tonight? Crocodile knew that's what he planned, for himself, once he was done with Doflamingo. Was this his plan, or had he subconsciously changed his mind? Was he going to kill Doflamingo?

"Oh well," Crocodile casually replied. He blinked, feeling moisture beginning to gather around his eyes. He fought it and let the words naturally flow out of his mouth, letting them guide his way out of this predicament. "I have to leave Doflamingo. After all of this? I have to get out."

"Is this because we had sex?"

Crocodile heard the phone creak in his hands, his tightened grip coming close to snapping the plastic.

"Look, I'm sorry," Doflamingo groaned. "I won't do it again. You just need to stop sending me these fucking mixed messages."

A shovel can be procured at the nearby hardware shop. Crocodile figured he could spend a few tens and get himself something nice to dig a hole with. He couldn't risk using anything from this house, not without it potentially being traced back to him. What about cameras? Were there cameras in a hardware store? Were the shovels kept inside or in the gardening section?

"I made sure it felt good for you," Doflamingo defensively went on. Crocodile was realizing how the boy whined and stretched his vowels, sounding more like a child caught stealing treats than someone who caused insurmountable pain. "I wasn't only thinking about me. I'm more than aware that certain things are uncomfortable for you." The boy paused. Crocodile didn't wait for Doflamingo to continue his line of excuses.

He would need to drag Doflamingo out where he could commit the act in peace. The desert was barren. Nobody would notice him in the darkness of the night. And how many people would think to search the desert for a body? Even if someone did, what were the odds of finding Doflamingo's corpse?

"I still mean everything I said."

How do you get someone all the way out in the desert? That's where the alcohol comes in. The fireworks and the alcohol will mix well. Doflamingo wanted to see a show, correct? Offer him the opportunity to witness one before it was too late. Provide a strict time limit, and pressure him into showing up before then. The alcohol will make things easier. Doflamingo cannot hope to escape while drunk.

Doflamingo laughed through the line. "Everything about you…none of it has changed. I still look up to you. You're still that impressive asshole who's doing shit behind my back. Like right now. You're telling me I gotta get ready to leave by tonight? Shit, Crocodile. Just the same as always, not even sex can change that. Nothing can change you."

Crocodile was still on the laughter. How was it that Doflamingo was able to look at the past event and make something humorous of it?

"This really can't be bothering you, right?" Was Doflamingo really asking him this? "It's something else, isn't it?"

And obviously Doflamingo couldn't be allowed to see or know any of this right away. The hole would need to be ought of sight, out of mind. Distract Doflamingo first, and then guide him closer.

"Is it because you're embarrassed?"

Duct tape and rope should not be necessary. Anything that can leave too many fingerprints should be left behind. Evidence can last a long time. Rubbing alcohol removes blood. Keep an extra pair of clothes handy.

"I know you got weird about it before."

Or…Crocodile could drive over to see Doflamingo, bust open the door to his room, and the blow his brains out. He could drill holes into Doflamingo's skin, step on his arms and legs, smash his weight on them until bones broke.

"You always talk about me needing to take the initiative," Doflamingo continued. "Or something like that. I gotta know when to make the right move. You were always going about that, ever since we were kids. I had to find that right moment to steal the candy bar, or the can of energy drink or watery beer, otherwise I got nothing. You taught me that remember?"

And now everybody was laughing. There was Doflamingo, the people outside, the wind hitting the window, the twisting and turning of every internal organ, and even himself. Crocodile could hear his own voice mocking him, and no amount of clouded thought, or wiping of the face, or holding in his breath could change the horrible fact that He. Had. Been. Raped.

"Well, I took it," Doflamingo said. "I took the initiative and got what I wanted. And, well, I'm glad I did. Cause I've always looked up to you, and you just kept on climbing higher and higher." Crocodile covered his eyes, giving up on the wiping, and choosing now to let everything collect in his cupped hand. "You've always been higher than me, and I liked that. I was fine with it. You see–"

* * *

 

**-Now-**

"It gave me a goal."

The arid winter air no longer stung Crocodile's nostrils. It was replaced with a stagnant, heavy metallic taste that wafted around, clinging to the fabric, leaving him heavier with every step he took around Doflamingo's curled body.

"From the moment I discovered you could surpass biology," Doflamingo coughed, looking up at Crocodile circling around him. "I realized I could do the same. People? Gods? Just a bunch of words if you think about it. But shit, if I had to choose, I gotta go for the later."

Crocodile heard a series of light knocks above him. Whatever Robin needed could wait.

The man beneath him was spewing blood with every other word he dared to utter. If it pissed him off, Crocodile would unleash a series of kicks, a blow to the head or chest from the base of his hook, and watch Doflamingo twist and jerk about in physical repulsion. The blond would force out a weakened laugh and blood would spit out. He'd continue to talk, saying things that would obviously piss Crocodile off more, and this time he'd cough it out, sniff in between words to halt the flow of blood from his nose, busted lips, or broken skin. And it infuriated Crocodile to pay witness to Doflamingo's will to never shut the hell up, and he'd start the torment all over again.

Doflamingo was keeping him inside of the room. The idiot claimed that the two of them would leave together, suggesting that if one of them were to leave alone, it was because someone drove the other to murder. Crocodile was fine with that. He was close to finishing Doflamingo off.

Said man was lying on his back, his good eye lidded, mouth open and leaking out a combination of spit and blood, drenching his close in it, mixing it with the sweat created from an overdose of adrenaline that resulted in Crocodile's never-ending barrages. Doflamingo was without food or water for several hours now. He was neglected any form of care, and now he was being tortured dry. Crocodile wasn't sure he would need to go beyond the use of his hook in order to kill him.

"So," Doflamingo muttered, licking his chapped lips stained with drying blood. "That's been my goal for the last few years." He coughed again. Crocodile watched red dots speckle the floor, and the way Doflamingo stared at this own mess, looking more annoyed than worried. "Well, not so much last few years. Really, there's always been that need to surpass you. I just figured, with me screwing everything up, I'd place myself above you through means even you couldn't deny."

Crocodile rested his eyes on a drop of blood beginning to coagulate and dry. His nose flared as he brought his foot up, resting the arch of his shoe on top of Doflamingo's shoulder, emitting just enough pressure to keep the man from wriggling and soaking it up with his moist clothes.

Robin knocked on the door again, this time louder. But it still retained a pattern to it, with a solid second between each knock. And it wasn't heavy sounding enough to alert Crocodile that something was wrong.

"I don't require any more surgeries."

"You all fixed up?"

"Fixed?" Crocodile slammed his weight into Doflamingo's shoulder, earning only a sharp hiss from the man below.

Doflamingo kicked up his legs. "Fuck! Improved? Changed? Replaced?"

Crocodile continued to apply pressure. "Do you really think I'd ever accept such an offer from you?" He lifted his leg and stared at the imprint it left behind. Crocodile took a step back, admiring the work, up until Doflamingo turned his head, showing off that foul smirk of his.

"You're telling me you already got the surgery?"

The question irked him.

"You made such a big deal about transitioning," Doflamingo said. "You were so damn desperate to get all that work done."

Crocodile knelt down, letting the tip of his hook touch Doflamingo's chin. "Shut up."

"No," Doflamingo spat out, letting drops of blood come close to hitting Crocodile in the face. "You wouldn't change your mind about transitioning, and now you're telling me you'd refuse my offering to you?" He sniffed. Blood defiantly oozed out from his broken nose. "And now I'm looking at you and you're giving me this vibe that you haven't had any work done since you left Arizona…"

He pushed the tip of the hook under Doflamingo's chin, watching the sharp edge come close to puncturing flesh. "You're in no position to start theorizing," Crocodile warned.

"But it's so unlike you," Doflamingo replied. "All of this. You're supposed to be thriving, and instead, I'm learning that you fucked up. You fucked up with Whitebeard, and you fucked up getting yourself a pretty little cock. Well, how are you supposed to make me your bitch now, eh?"

The sad reality was that no amount of money could buy Crocodile just that. Dreams were one thing, but the truth was almost one hundred grand for a scarred up arm or leg, skin rolled up, sliced and shaped out to resemble something like a human sex organ, and then crudely stitched on top of everything else. Nerves were moved and attached to other things, but one would still need a pump to "achieve" and "maintain" an erection.

"Also makes any worst case scenarios more difficult," Doflamingo went on. "I mean, assuming thing don't work out, and I have no choice but to punish you, which seems to be where we're headed, I was hoping to use that against you."

"Excuse me?" Crocodile shook his head. "I'm to believe you'd castrate me?"

"Well, cocks are replaceable, aren't they?" Doflamingo asked, sniffing up blood and letting tears roll down his good eye. "I mean, if you can get yourself one, who is to say you can't get several? And you know I'd go out of my way to get you the nicest one money can buy."

Crocodile blinked. "Huh. I never quite thought about it that way."

"I'd still cut yours off though," Doflamingo said. "I'd have my executives hold you down, and I'd do the deed." He sniffed again, smiling up at an almost stunned Crocodile. "Not sure if it would hurt much or not, but I'd leave you sitting on the toilet until you learned your lesson."

"Replaceable," Crocodile muttered.

"Yes."

"Including yours?" the older man added.

He watched Doflamingo hold his tongue, smile quickly dropping into a frown. "Well, no," he replied, "not mine. You see, Crocodile, mine's real. It serves a purpose beyond making me feel good about myself."

Crocodile could have easily bashed Doflamingo's head in right there. Better, he could have grabbed something sharp and done away with Doflamingo's sad, limp cock. He could taunt the screaming with the image of his own manhood ripped away and left dying in Crocodile's hand. He could chop it up into several pieces, and then Doflamingo–

* * *

 

**-Then-**

–would have nothing.

Crocodile stared at the blisters forming all over the palm of his left hand. The desert wind blew across his face, sending several strands of his hair to fly up, some getting in the way of his vision, other flailing in all directions until the cold air dwindled to a light breeze, then nothing.

The hole was about four feet all around, and almost as deep. It took him nearly two hours to get it to where it was. Crocodile was not made for hard labor. He was drenched in sweat, and his hands were aching. His right was leaking clear fluid from accidently bursting a newly formed blister. The dry surroundings made the opened wound burn and sizzle with pain. Crocodile would need to get to dig another two feet if he wanted Doflamingo to fit. The boy was getting too damn big.

He needed to buy alcohol. Not just for Doflamingo, but for himself. His hands were on fire, and he could feel the back of his neck begin to sting under the heat of the sun. His arms were exposed, and they were sticking with bits of sand, and were starting to feel the effects of the sun and lack of hydration. His entire face was in pain. Anything that wasn't scarred felt dry, and each time Crocodile frowned he felt the skin stretch around the mouth, pulling after grown stiff from the environment sucking the moisture away.

Crocodile remembered being small and spending hours out in the desert, digging holes and burying treasure. He always took some kind of beverage with him. He'd wash his hands with orange soda after digging a hole up with his bare hands. His nails would catch pebbles or granules of sand, and Crocodile would have to stop and free them. Rocks would be left in piles to indicate buried treasure. Crocodile drew maps in a journal once designated for school.

Sometimes Crocodile took to plundering the holes belonging to the wildlife. He'd bring with him plastic bottles filled with lighter fluid, or long sticks with sharpened tips, or worst of all, his imagination. He'd spot a hole big enough for him to bury something; an old toy or something he stole from the kids who refused to call him by his true name, and he would pour the strong smelling fluid in, or the stick, or he'd light a small fire and let the smoke fill the orifice. He'd watch lizards and tarantulas scuttle out, weary from the lack of clean oxygen, or injured after fighting with sharp stick.

This was all before Doflamingo. Crocodile only buried things when he was alone, save for the money, which was always being collected in secret. He boxed up a wounded tarantula because, less than a week prior, he sliced his hand open, sure that it would be enough for him to bleed out and die. He made a million little maps depicting the location of buried toys, hats, and key chains, but he only bothered to remember where the money was kept. The maps were tossed aside with every new journal he took, and the stolen action figures were lost forever.

Crocodile picked up the shovel, wincing when he gripped the varnished wood, his palms in shaking agony.

After Doflamingo there was a decrease in plundering. Less maps depicted the location of hidden items. Whatever Crocodile stole was usually given to Doflamingo. The boy had everything he could ask for, and yet he treasured the stolen ball cap. He adored the trinkets Crocodile won from fights. Older kids always a thing to say about Crocodile, what with him being so strange, and Crocodile would fight, and Doflamingo would watch from a distance, smiling and cheering him on, not quite understanding the meaning behind the names being thrown out. After sand was rubbed in the eyes, Doflamingo would be handed a new ornament, and they'd play, and whatever they won would be lost to the sand.

The money was the only thing that remained buried. First the desert, but after the incident, and Crocodile was finally able to start living, it moved. It was in a cupboard, it was in a drawer, a closet, underneath a bed. First it was supposed to be for the mess between the legs, then was used for some drugs, then the handgun, and now whatever was left was going to help him get the hell out of this wasteland.

Crocodile remembered wanting to give Doflamingo the money once.

He jumped into the hole, his legs detecting a subtle drop in temperature. His shoulders were sore. He had to get this done as soon as possible. He needed time to drive back into town, buy what he needed, change his clothes, and hope Doflamingo would get here on time.

 _This was important. This was Doflamingo's hole. Your hole. For Doflamingo_.

Crocodile pressed the shovel into the hardened ground, eyes squinting at the moisture collecting around his eyes.

Today was just sucking him dry. How many times was he going to break down and continue losing whatever he had left inside of him? Every time he stopped his body grew weaker. He became slower. Thirstier.

Crocodile sat down. He tossed the shovel aside, letting his arms wrap around his shaking legs instead, and stared up at the cloudless sky. It was supposed to be winter. It felt like the middle of a summer and Crocodile was eleven again, and Doflamingo didn't stop him from returning to the desert, body covered up layers, his chest heaving because he overdosed on iron pills, and was planning on taking more. His hair was a mess, and some strands clung to his face, nineteen years old, or maybe still eleven, and the fingers of his left hand were beginning to tingle. His throat hurt, and his stomach was turning inside out, now because he was dehydrated and thirsty, and sick and nervous. When he was eleven he took several iron pills, because the more you take the easier it becomes to poison the liver. The idea that he would be forced to endure thirty years of bleeding between the legs made him want to kill himself, and nobody took that seriously, so he left home, took a dozen iron pills with him, and began popping them into his mouth like candy. Doflamingo came early. The boy was going to get something nice, but he ruined it by taking Crocodile back to his house, resting beside him and never giving him the peace he needed to just die.

Crocodile later bleed, but his mother learned her lesson, and he got to take new pills that would stop it from ever happening again.

With parts of his life passing through his mind, Crocodile reached out and grabbed the shovel. He did not start digging. He remained sitting, eyes staring out, letting salt ridden tears run down his face as he thought up his next plan.

Everything was ruined. Doflamingo always ruined everything. And right now, he was ruined. And he could kill Doflamingo, and he could go and pretend everything was going to be all right. Crocodile could work and continue to transition, and he could get those treatments that he had heard so much about. Technology was getting better. There would be all sorts of options for him, right?

Except things weren't all right, and they would never be "all right." They wouldn't be ok, or manageable, or capable of being tolerated.

Crocodile dropped the shovel again. His hands slid down to his stomach, and then one dared to go further, fingers coming together and sliding over his pants. Crocodile closed his legs, but that hand was still there, cradling the pain that could only exist right now because his mind wouldn't let go. It would never let go. Even if he did kill Doflamingo, nothing would be ok.

_Fuck this is what it's going to be like for the rest of my life now I'm never going to feel good ever again even if I save that money or kill the bastard I'm not sure if I want to kill him is that strange or what he fucking sticks his dick up that hole and I can't say without a doubt I want him dead right now but I do know I don't want to be here anymore again I don't want to leave this hole I want to stay here and let it all out and maybe I'll just pass out and it'll rain and the water will push the sand in and I'll be smothered underneath Doflamingo I'm in so much pain right now I don't ever want to leave this hole where are you and I'll drag you down with me we can stay in here together and be smothered by the rain it should be raining soon it always rains in December–_

"You still here?"

* * *

 

**-Now-**

Crocodile looked down at Doflamingo. The man was soaked in all the bodily secretions. But Doflamingo was staring back up, and he had the look of a man who had a shitty hand on him, but somehow knew he was going to beat this game. For Doflamingo, the game was always rigged in his favor. Right now he'd been dealt the first shitty hand in a long time, and perhaps the blond was out of his usual element, but he knew he was going to beat this. Crocodile could believe it too. Doflamingo had been planning his strategy since he left home.

Crocodile lacked a plan. He could make one up right on the spot, but he wouldn't follow it. Doflamingo said he would keep him in the room, and Crocodile refused, insisting that he was in control, only to now be caught standing in the middle of the room after nearly an hour of small talk and torture.

"What?" he asked.

Doflamingo looked over at the door. Crocodile turned and stared up, listening to the sound of Robin knocking, this time wit noticeable vigor.

"I wonder who it could be?" he heard Doflamingo playfully mutter.

"You mentioned us staying in the room together?" Crocodile said, looking back down at Doflamingo. "What will you do when I attempt to ascend those stairs?"

"I could easily drag you down here if I wanted you," Doflamingo taunted. His was bounded, couldn't defend himself, was drenched in sweat, was shaking, was turning pale, was giving off all the visible signs of dying, and right now Doflamingo was mocking him.

A dying man was openly mocking him.

"Considering it could be my men," Doflamingo continued, his voice hoarse, "I do sort of want you to open it. It would be nice to see if you're about to lose or not? Or maybe it's Whitebeard, and we're both screwed. But I'm really curious."

A man who had maybe a few hours left in him was curious to see if Crocodile was at risk of enduring another humiliating ride inside the trunk of one of Whitebeard's many luxurious vehicles.

Crocodile took a step over to the stairs, looking down when heard the strange sound of moisture, felt the pull of something underneath the soles. His shoes were stained with blood, the top caked in a few layers, and as he continued his ascent, Crocodile listened to the blood stick to the stairs, making a nasty ripping sound when he moved up.

He opened the door. "This better be good," he warned.

Robin stared back at him, her arms already crossing. She didn't have that usual calm look in her eyes. Normally this would be a welcoming sight to behold, but with everything out of his control, Crocodile became frustrated at her for looking at him so worryingly.

"Whitebeard called."

Crocodile was glad she didn't raise her voice anymore than what she needed in order to make a point. He couldn't begin to imagine Doflamingo catching those words.

"What did his men say?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not his men. Whitebeard called."

Crocodile let go of the doorknob. "Excuse me?"

"He said he likes the product," Robin replied, her palms rubbing her elbows. The few nervous ticks she was willing to show made Crocodile want to throw her into the room with Doflamingo. Now was not the time for her to be showing weakness.

"And?"

"And he said he's going to give you two hours to, and I quote; "get the hell out of my territory"," Robin answered. Crocodile then noticed that the woman wasn't dressed in the extravagant clothes he bought for her. She was donning casual wear, and right away Crocodile was able to assess and understand just how much time he had wasted downstairs.

"What else did he say?"

"He's going to give chase if he catches so much as a glimpse of any members after the time's run out," Robin replied. "Which means you have about a–"

"How many of our members are aware of the situation?" Crocodile interrupted. His voice was loud. Doflamingo was trying to listen in, and he was getting angry and too loud, and he was still playing into the blond's hands.

"Just a few," Robin admitted. "I wanted our closest agents to prepare for the worst, should Whitebeard know the whereabouts of our fronts…"

"Of course he would" Crocodile growled at her. "He's not about to give a threat like that unless he already knows where some of our members work."

"What would you suggest we do?"

"Where's Mr. 1?"

"On his way over," Robin answered. "But not before going to your place and gathering a few things."

"Why is he at my house?"

"To get you some fresh clothes." Robin sounded offended. "And access to your accounts. Crocodile, I'm not sure if you–"

"Did I tell you it was alright to call me that?" Crocodile snapped. He grabbed her by the shoulder and pulled her close. "I don't expect any one of my subordinates to call me by that name. You're just the same. You don't call me by my name unless I gave you permission to, do you understand?"

Doflamingo's laughter bounced off the cement walls and echoed their way up the flight of stairs, raking Crocodile's brain and causing Robin to look over, catching Doflamingo's wreaked body, and grow upset that this was still going on after nearly an hour.

"Leave him," she said.

"I'm not done with him," Crocodile replied.

"He'll be dead either way."

But was that good enough for him? Could Crocodile live with himself knowing that Doflamingo didn't die by his hands when he was given the chance to? He already failed before, could he live with himself after being allowed a second?

"I'm going to be done with him soon," Crocodile said. It wasn't him asking for permission. He certainly wasn't trying to assure her he knew what he was doing. He was the boss. He was in control. The nervous look in her eyes did nothing for him, and he wasn't afraid of missing the countdown.

Robin nodded her head. "I'm packing my things," she announced.

"See to it you take only what cannot be replaced," Crocodile muttered, letting her go. "I'll be done with him."

"Shoot him."

"Don't tell me what to do, _Miss All-Sunday_ ," Crocodile hissed, pushing her out of the way before shutting the door. He smacked his hand against the wall, huffing, face turning red with embarrassment. He listened to her walk away, her slow steps barely heard through the door.

Doflamingo's laughter called him down.

Crocodile cracked a few knuckles as he descended, trying to calm his temperament and not let Doflamingo in on the news.

Whitebeard gave him time to escape? Crocodile aspired to believe it was because the drugs were so good that he was being allowed this privilege. But Yonko product nearly tipped one hundred percent, and Crocodile knew Doflamingo wasn't that good. It seemed like the offering was a result of Whitebeard's twisted sense of a humor. But he would be a fool not to take it.

Crocodile stopped midway.

He was…going back down. Again. Whitebeard was offering him a chance to escape, he only had an hour to get as far as he could before the old bastard unleashed his armada against him, and Crocodile was halfway down to hell, falling right back into Doflamingo's hands. Doflamingo said he would have him trapped in this room until one of them died, and he was proving the man right. Doflamingo was nearly dead, but so far he was in control of everything.

Crocodile's hand hovered over the gun.

Doflamingo said that the only way for one of them to leave was if the other died.

He took his gun from its handle. Crocodile carefully examined it, already knowing it was fully loaded, that all he would have to do is pull the trigger and be done with it. Was it as fun as watching Doflamingo writhe in pain? No, but it was certainly better than remaining a pawn in this strange game. Doflamingo would have him continuing for hours to come, well past the countdown, and risk getting himself caught by Whitebeard's men. Doflamingo would die happily knowing Crocodile went first.

Crocodile lowered his arms, hand behind his back as he continued his descent.

"Doflamingo…"

"Hmm?" That cocky attitude of his wouldn't last for long. It pained Crocodile to end things so abrupt, but he caught on! He would not allow Doflamingo to remain in control, not anymore. He'd kill the man, leave this room, this blasted country, tail between the legs, but alive. He'd still have his name, money, and he'd have Robin and maintained respect from his men who were informed of the situation.

What did Doflamingo have?

Crocodile took a step down, eyes on the bloodied floor, expecting to see bound legs curling and inching away from his shadow. He didn't see them right away, and Crocodile couldn't make an entrance out of the moment, not if he was out of Doflamingo's view. He still held the gun behind him, slowly making his way down, thinking up a few clever lines to say, head turning as he tried to catch Doflamingo on the floor.

Another step down, and nothing. How far did Doflamingo crawl?

Crocodile's arm dropped, his hook gaining immeasurable weight when he reached a point where he should have been able to spot Doflamingo, because the room was only so big, and the floor took up only so much space that Doflamingo should really be seen by now, unless he was in a blind spot. But there was no trail that lead to any. There would be a bloodied track leading to one of the corners. There was a messy trail, but it lead in the opposite direction, to the wall, and there was that selection of tool he adorned it with, including a few missing pieces.

The blades were missing.

Doflamingo was missing.

"Where are you?" Crocodile asked, gun pointed to the wall.

"By the table," Doflamingo answered. His voice was weary.

"I see." Crocodile raised his hook up to cover his chest as he finished making his way down to the stairs. He looked to the floor and caught sight of the worn out binds that he used to hold Doflamingo's legs together. Smart move. There was only time to undo one, and Doflamingo gave himself the ability to run.

"Actually, you don't," Doflamingo replied. "I'm giving myself as much of an advantage as I can here."

"Well, doesn't do much good," Crocodile said. "You're bleeding out. I'd go as far and say you're at the end of your rope…" His shoe hit the cement floor. Crocodile turned, expecting to see Doflamingo by the table, just barely holding on with his bound hands. But instead he saw a flash of bright colors and red, then felt Doflamingo crash into him, the force and weight of his body a surprise that Crocodile wasn't prepared for.

His right side was hit, and he dropped the gun, because his left side was about to make contact with the ground, and the hook would make the landing unbearable. Hands grabbed on to his chest as Crocodile struggled to turn himself around. Doflamingo was weak, but he wouldn't let go.

The back of Crocodile's head hit the floor. A million messages ran down his spine; pain one of them, shock, lightening, followed by a deafening ring. His legs jerked upward, mouth open as his body continued after the head, the back smacking against the floor, and Doflamingo pushing down on him, weight intensifying the impact. Loud rings. Vision blurring. Throat collapsing. Lungs. It was happening all over again.

Crocodile coughed, staring up with mosaic vision, watching a tunnel begin to form around the edges, Doflamingo's bloodied up face staring down at him; smile spread across a destroyed face. He felt something sharp against his neck.

His vision grew worse, and Crocodile was sure he was several feet under the surface, body limp with shock and nerve damage, Doflamingo above him, with a gun, waving it, mocking, repeating history all over again. Crocodile shuddered to think this was all part of Doflamingo's plan. Was it destiny? Was this really what his life amounted to?

His consciousness slipped, and Crocodile was back in the hole, in the middle of a desert, craving enough alcohol to shut his body down, no longer caring about whether or not he lived or died, so long as he took Doflamingo with him.


	21. You Made Me

**-Part 3-**

**-Then-**

Passion could supply enough energy to anything, including someone like Crocodile.

The weather was taking a dive. The sun was setting, and the cool desert air was turning cold and sharp. A once inviting breeze now stung whoever was unfortunate enough to not bring a good jacket. Crocodile's was in the car. After hours of digging he no longer required it.

"Crocodile, what are you doing down there?"

A bottle pressed against his lips, Crocodile made no effort to answer Mihawk's question. He remained situated in his hole, staring at the multitude of layers he'd dug up, at the shades of brown, turning darker until they reached his point, where things were starting to look moist and fertile.

"Dude, what is this?" a younger voice asked.

"Nothing, Shanks."

Crocodile listened and continued to nurse his drink. All around him were bottles, some still closed, but several open and emptied out, now filling his pained gut with alcohol. He thought about taking the empty ones out and lining them around the opening to the hole. He smiled at how pleasant it might appear to anyone else who decided to intrude upon his space.

"Seriously, are you having a bad day?" Mihawk asked from above.

"Why the fuck are you here?" Crocodile slurred out.

"Because I saw you buy enough booze to carry a party for several hours," Mihawk replied. "And seeing that you despise social events, I figured out you were up to something."

The alcohol made Crocodile surprised to hear this. Anybody who knew him well enough could conclude that he would return to this unfertile land, the only place in the world drier and more miserable than him. Right now, with beer taking up more space in his veins than blood or water, everything coming out of Mihawk sounded like some damn revelation.

"Go home," Crocodile said. "Go back to the rest of the world, with your stupid boyfriend."

"You're drunk," Mihawk stated.

"And I got a loaded gun on me."

He heard Mihawk moan above him. Moan, like he was some child in need of guidance, and Mihawk was stuck being the adult and forced to tell him how wrong he was. "Christ, Crocodile, what is it _this_ time?"

"Mihawk," the boy yelled. "Man, it's getting cold."

"Just a second, Shanks."

"C'mon, Ben's going to get out of work soon. Let's get the hell out of here and grab a bite to eat."

"You should leave," Crocodile muttered. He took a sip from a still cold bottle, pulling it away once his mouth was filled. He let the liquid rest in his mouth until it started to burn. He swallowed. His stomach grew heavier. "Things are going to get messy."

"Wow, you are so full of shit," Mihawk replied. "Incredible. You're thinking about using that gun again? After things went so well the last time?"

Crocodile looked up at Mihawk, swallowing the last bit of drink down his throat. "I swear to god, Mihawk, if you don't leave right now I'll shoot you right in front of your damn friend."

Mihawk knelt down. "Sure about that? You look like you'd prefer to use it on yourself."

Crocodile scoffed. Mihawk remained squatted above him, looking less worried with each passing second.

"Should I call the cops later and report you missing, quite possibly dead?"

The lack of sarcasm had Crocodile raising his bottle, prepared to throw it up at Mihawk. "Mind your own goddamn business," he warned.

"Yo, Mihawk," a voice yelled out. "Food. Warmth. Ben." Crocodile heard something shuffle in the sand, approaching him and Mihawk. "Let's get the hell out of here before the coyotes come out…"

Crocodile stared up, catching the sight of a young boy, perhaps younger than Doflamingo, with messy red hair, barely kept in place with the aid of a straw hat. The hat stuck out against the worn, dirty clothes that adorned the boy. It was old too, but something about it stood out compared to the everyday wear.

It was like Doflamingo's sunglasses. Doflamingo always wore nice things. Even his casual dress was nice compared to Crocodile's, or anybody else. But the sunglasses stuck out. Cheap, brittle, and carrying years of scratches against the frame and lens, the sunglasses were the same as the hat. And staring at it and seeing and comprehending this comparison made Crocodile come close to tossing the bottle at the boy.

And now that boy was staring down at him.

"You should take his advice." Crocodile let a finger fall into the opening of his bottle. He pressed his index finger further down the neck, feeling the warming moisture surround his near trapped appendage. "Things will certainly become dangerous once the sun goes down."

"You plan on leaving anytime soon?" The annoying brat in the straw hat asked.

"No. Of course he isn't," Mihawk answered for Crocodile. "Shanks, give me a moment."

"Ugh, really?"

"Yes," Mihawk replied. "Look, go on ahead without me. I need to have a talk."

"Meet me at Ben's, alright?"

"Yes, yes, fine," Mihawk said.

Crocodile was already back to staring at the soil. He felt through the soil, finding his keys and picked up the bottle opener attached to it, ready to open yet another container. Somewhere common sense was warning him that killing Doflamingo was going to be a hell lot more difficult while drunk. He flicked the bottle open, not entirely sure if that was the intended goal anymore.

How was he going to pick up Doflamingo when he was too drunk to keep his head up?

"Shit," he muttere _d._

_Didn't I decide we were just going to rot in this hole anyways?_

"Hmmm." And Doflamingo was probably wondering where he was right now. What a sight to behold. How worried the little prick might be, with his backpack full of personal belongings, waiting, wondering why in the hell his precious boyfriend hadn't picked him up yet, or why nobody was answering the phone. Crocodile's legs were numb, he was starting to feel hot, and his stomach was churning and twisting into knots, but at least he wasn't pissing himself over potentially being abandoned.

The keys dropped and Crocodile nearly bit his tongue, snickering at the wonderful, hypothetical scene.

"Crocodile?" Mihawk called.

Staring at the moist soil, Crocodile brought the umpteenth bottle to his lips and began to drink.

"I'm not entirely sure what's ailing you right now," Mihawk said. Crocodile could roll his eyes at how pretentious Mihawk sounded, using that fucking word, "ailing," as though he were afflicted with some sort of sickness. "I can imagine you're under a lot of personal stress. This hole you dug, the drinks…it's making it very difficult for me to figure out what you're intending to do with yourself."

"Good."

"You mentioned having a loaded gun on you."

Crocodile nodded his head. And now his throat was burning, muscles inside of him were relaxing, unless it was related to the digestive system. Those were starting to contract and hurt.

"You make a lot of poor judgments when you're upset, and now you're drunk."

Crocodile shrugged. "Are you going to get to the point or just keep prattling on?"

"I think you should consider giving me the gun right now, before you make another poor decision," Mihawk answered.

"Like using it on you?" Crocodile remarked back. "Kuhahaha! The look on your face. Do you remember?" No remark from above. Crocodile placed the drink between his legs and grabbed the handgun. It was heavy, and in his drunken grip felt like it would fall and possibly go off at a given moment. Crocodile's breathing quickened as he stared into the dark barrel, his mind displacing further away from the present. "You see, Mihawk, I had nothing to lose then, and I have nothing to lose now. I never had anything to lose because I was never given anything to begin with, just what I had to earn on my own. This stupid gun. The fucking needles. It was all my own doing, not anybody else's. Not hers. Not yours. Not fucking Doflamingo's…"

"Crocodile, what do you intend on doing with that gun? This hole?"

"I could only gain," Crocodile continued, ignoring Mihawk's request for an answer. "For the longest time, I could only gain…I've never really known what it was like to actually lose something, other than my life. But even then, I could never lose that, not even when things were stacked against me."

"…who's there?"

Crocodile picked up his drink and took another sip. His mind was hazy and his stomach hurt. He was waiting for it to rain so he could drown in his hole, with or without Doflamingo. Mihawk was ruining the moment. Or maybe he was making it better. Maybe he was adding to the scene. Adding to the show.

"Like one big show," Crocodile muttered. "One big fucking game where I gain and survive, and then have everything swiped when I make the mistake of growing comfortable."

"Oh, good, you're here…"

"I hate those games." Crocodile reeled, curling inward to fight the growing toxicity that was beginning to soak and have its way with his body. There was no need for a jacket now, not with his skin shivering with poisonous heat.

He was supposed to get Doflamingo a while ago. He failed to do that. He was alone in a hole, and the only thought that could provide some level of solace was imagining Doflamingo in his room, brokenhearted, crying over being rejected by him. And even now, with his liver and intestines about to reject several bottles of booze, hands fighting to keep hold of a gun and yet another bottle, instead of dropping it all and grabbing hold of himself, Crocodile was distracted by that image of a sad little boy worse off than him.

The thought was painted clear in his mind, bringing forth contradicting feelings of comfort and dismay. It wasn't until he felt some gravel fall and hit him in the shoulder did he notice the unsettling feeling nestling in his stomach, the sour taste in his mouth, saliva coating his mouth in a thick layer to prepare itself for an upchuck.

"Crocodile?"

The sound of Doflamingo's voice caused him to snap his neck up to the sky. His body was sick and septic, and Crocodile could feel bodily reflexes working it's way into his throat, stopping him from breathing, because the muscles in his stomach were too busy contracting. His body was preoccupied with survival, always determined to endure whatever gruesome attacks he laid out against it. His eyes could barely focus on the shadowed form of Doflamingo's head, shaking and blurry, about to split into two, three, four…

"Crocodile?" A hand extended, plummeting into the hole, to Crocodile, the drinks, and the gun, and everything else that aimed against Doflamingo.

A few seconds from succumbing to the gag reflex, Crocodile blinked, feeling his redden, dry eyes fixate on the appendage, on the hand that wanted to pull him out from the hole it helped make. Doflamingo's voice was shaky, and his long fingers were losing their touch, shaking as they reached to claim him.

A second away from his digestive system giving in, his mind was slipping, losing track of how many orders to give at once, and emotions and consciousness dimming, while his insides begged for a release.

"Crocodile?" Mihawk's voice? Or perhaps it was Doflamingo's?

_No, this is wrong. This is not how it was supposed to go down._

This was it. His lowest point. The worst day of his life. Worse than anything else he could have imagined. Absolutely nothing after this point mattered.

Nothing could possibly get any worse.

* * *

 

**-Now-**

His head ached.

Crocodile was on the floor. He was on his back. As far as he could tell, there was nothing binding him. Doflamingo never made it that far, or perhaps he left shortly after bringing him down. Crocodile wasn't sure, but he had to assume Doflamingo might still be around.

He twitched, testing the limits of his freedom without alerting Doflamingo that he was awake. First a finger, then two. He jerked his left arm, and discovered the hook was still attached. He felt the base roll against the hard floor. He heard the friction of the soft, pliable gold metal grazing against the rough cement.

"I hope you don't mind, but I used your phone in order to make a few, quick calls."

Crocodile inhaled a loud, frustrated sigh. He opened his eyes, turning his head in the direction of Doflamingo's voice, spotting him on the messy table, cell phone in hand. Doflamingo stared at it, rubbing his covered eyes while giving the occasional sniff.

Doflamingo shifted in place, turning to Crocodile. "Turns out things aren't looking too good, outside of this room."

Crocodile couldn't spot the gun.

"Your girlfriend told me everything," Doflamingo muttered. Crocodile shifted his eyes over at the stairs, feeling his mouth go dry. "Don't worry," he heard Doflamingo continue,"I didn't do a goddamn thing to her. She got me right where it counts, but I let her go." Crocodile went back to staring at Doflamingo, who was now flipping the phone open, casually texting out a message. "You see, at the end of the day, you're alive. And I hate to say it, but you getting a taste of her once in a while might have helped contributed to it. And while I'm not a fan of the image, I'm not about to complain. Woman's got a good head between her shoulders. She tolerated you. That alone is punishment enough, I suppose."

Crocodile remained silent, watching Doflamingo continue to text. His back ached from resting on the flat, hard concrete floor. He dared not move. He didn't see it, but Crocodile knew Doflamingo had his gun somewhere on his person.

"So Whitebeard's on his way," Doflamingo said, snapping the phone shut and placing it by his side. "And you've been out for about…thirty minutes now. Your girlfriend's gone, wanted to let you know she's going to Spiders Café, whatever that means…I don't plan on letting you get that far though."

Robin was gone? Not a surprise. Her giving away her intended location was unexpected, but Crocodile wasn't going to pretend she gave the location to Doflamingo with her anticipating his arrival. She left him for dead, and Crocodile didn't blame her one bit.

He tried to envision where the gun might be. Doflamingo was drumming his fingers on the table, a hand rubbing his filthy face of any dried blood and residue, only stopping to cover his bandaged eye, a result of the pain getting to him.

"So there's your predicament, made worse by the fact that Whitebeard's definitely on his way to this place," Doflamingo said, leaning back. His movements were sluggish, definitely weakened, but not nearly as bad as Crocodile last witnessed. And thirty minutes wasn't enough time to recuperate. "Miss All-Sunday made it sound like this would be one of his targets. And you slept past curfew."

It might be reasonable to assume Robin provided Doflamingo food and water. Not even Robin. If Crocodile was out for as long as Doflamingo claimed, then him leaving the room to gather necessities wouldn't have been too difficult to do, even in his state.

"And then we have my little problem, which isn't so little anymore, but yeah…" Doflamingo sighed. He looked disappointed. "My friends lost contact with a close associate of mine. Looks like I might be in some major trouble. Going to make things difficult, once I leave this place."

What on earth was he talking about? Earlier Doflamingo mentioned something about Kaido. Doflamingo made it sound like it wasn't too much of a problem, but the way he sat on the table, looking like a child that was recently told he couldn't go out to play, was an inappropriate way to express concern, assuming he just learned things with Kaido had gone awry.

"That's what's been keeping them so long." Doflamingo pointed at the phone. "I got my executives coming down though. Everyone else is scattering, looking for a place to lay low until things blow down. Diamante insists that Kaido won't waste his time, but…I'm not too sure about that?" A grin flashed across Doflamingo's beaten up face. "Cause Whitebeard's taking the time to destroy everything you worked hard to accomplish, and Kaido's in the same elite rank. And he's got Vergo somewhere, hopefully alive, but damn if I actually know. But he's got Vergo, and I can't help but think he's looking at me the same way Whitebeard's looking at you."

 _An annoyance._ That's what Crocodile figured. The old man probably viewed him like some sort of bug: a little freakish cockroach that wouldn't die or learn a goddamn lesson. And now Whitebeard and Kaido were getting tired of the pests bothering them, and were finally going out to unleash a mass extermination.

"We're threats. We're young, we both have the potential to reach their level, and they wanna stop us now before that ever happens." Doflamingo chuckled, rubbing his covered eye and making a soft whimper once he did. His smile disappeared. "But the boys are coming down, and they're on their way, about to save me from his huge disaster we've created, and…" Doflamingo reached around his back, and when he brought it around Crocodile saw the gun, shaking in his hands. "I sort of wonder," Doflamingo said, "will taking you with me make it any more complicated?"

Crocodile was taken aback. Doflamingo was contemplating killing him now?

"Don't give me that look," Doflamingo growled. "How do you think this makes me feel? I spent years of my life, regretting, wondering if you were alive, if I was blame for this."

Crocodile shifted, resting on his side. The gun was shaking. Doflamingo couldn't use it on him. It was all a show.

"Mihawk mentions you're alive, and I reminisce over just how strong you are." Doflamingo switched the safety off the gun. "Because all I remember are the memories of you surviving. And I think I'll do what I have to in order to get you. I'll make a name for myself on the black market. I'll sell drugs, and I'll sell souls all across the globe, until my name reaches you, calling you out from whatever shadows you've hidden yourself in."

Now the gun was rising up. Doflamingo's hand was still shaking though. Crocodile could tell it was, and it didn't matter if Doflamingo pointed it at him. It was still all a show.

"But instead, here you are." Doflamingo sounded like he was struggling. Crocodile couldn't detect the fear. He couldn't hear sadness. "At first it seemed you hadn't changed a bit, that you were still accomplishing things, but…"

Anger. That was what was causing the hand to shake. Doflamingo was seething with rage.

Crocodile retracted his legs. He was about to do the same with his arm, but forbade himself from appearing too defensive.

"It doesn't look like I have to worry much about breaking you," Doflamingo said. "Because you're already broken." He shrugged. "Or maybe you were broken for a long time, and I'm just starting to see that, finally. Because you're falling for the same tricks. The same damn things are tripping you out."

Crocodile wondered if he could get away with shifting some weight to his legs and jump Doflamingo. Unlikely. There was enough distance between them for the young man to pull the trigger, effectively ruining any chance of attack.

"And you made such a big deal about leaving Arizona and finishing whatever you needed in order to feel man enough, and I've come all this way discover you haven't done a damn thing." Doflamingo stared down at him, giving Crocodile that infuriating look of pity. "You've given up." The young man might as well have spat the words out; that's how disgusted he sounded.

"You're disappointed by this," Crocodile muttered. He could try inching his way closer. "You were so excited by the prospects of ruining me, and now you're pissed that I'm not some demigod of a man, ready to submit your insane discourses." He could try moving closer, just enough to give himself a slight advantage for an attack. "Pathetic. You're still the same stupid boy who's obsessed over the only person who gave him some attention."

Doflamingo snickered. "Excuse me?" He lowered the gun. He wasn't going to shoot. "You're putting this one me?"

Crocodile dragged his arm forward. The gold hook lightly scraped against the floor. He'd get another one, once this was over. "Oh, as if I'd give you the honor of being the only source of my misery."

He could grab Doflamingo by the leg, and then use the hook to gouge him. Would Doflamingo shoot? It might be better to just try and jump him. Doflamingo might have recovered some strength, but Crocodile knew he was at a huge advantage. Doflamingo was one eye short, with labored breath and a heaving, shaking body.

"I'm shocked you're even upset by this," Crocodile laughed. His head ached, but he didn't care. This conversation was ridiculous. After all these years, Doflamingo was the same, stupid boy who couldn't get over him. "You made a big deal about keeping me stuck in this room."

"I did," Doflamingo replied.

"And now you're upset you succeeded?"

Doflamingo rested his head against his hand, the gun now pointed upwards. "It's strange," he confessed. "I saw the look you made right before you passed out, and I remembered how you passed out all those times before."

"More reminiscing?" Crocodile's voice was drenched in sarcasm. "Is that all you're capable of?"

Doflamingo ignored the remark. "All those times I watched you, and each time you woke up, and each time I was so close to losing you. And I spent years thinking I might have lost you again, and I looked forward to catching you, and watching you wake up again." Doflamingo moved closer to the edge of the table, letting his shaky legs kick up as he continued to stare out and cast up distorted memories. "…It's always the same. You and I. We've never changed, not once, not since I met you."

Did Doflamingo realize he was opening himself for an attack? Was the idiot really that confident in his capabilities, despite so close to death's door?

Crocodile's eyes rested on his hook. He was tired, but he could still beat Doflamingo.

"I always wanted to surpass you," Doflamingo said. "But neither of us have changed, and you're still the same lonely little eight year old who lied about his name, because he was too scared to let me in on his secret the moment I met him. And me..."

As much of a distraction this conversation was, Crocodile found it tiring to listen to. "You're the stupid, spoiled brat who's far worse off."

"I'm a product of your influence," Doflamingo corrected.

Crocodile sneered. "Am I to take it I'm the reason you're such a piece of shit?"

"Oh, I'm saying we're a product us patting each other on the back," Doflamingo answered. "I grew up under the impression you were better than me, and you made a point to always meet those standards. And little surprises that came up only left me wanting to surpass you more and more. You gave the finger to nature and biology, I wanted to do the same, but take it a step further."

So this was how Doflamingo viewed him? Crocodile wasn't the least bit surprised, and yet he felt a tinge of nausea build in his abdomen. He wanted to wring Doflamingo by the neck and remind him this wasn't some little challenge to overcome.

"I thought breaking you down would mean the next step, but really," Doflamingo paused, and it didn't necessarily matter whether it was purposeful or not, but it left Crocodile privately reeling. It was when Doflamingo made eye contact with him, staring past Crocodile, looking beyond him, no longer expressing the same obsessive stare he grew to hate, did the man finally finish: "surpassing a child was never the goal."

Crocodile thought he could handle whatever schlock Doflamingo continued to allow past his lips. He laughed his way through torture, managed to keep Crocodile on a tightening leash with just the use of words, surely whatever nonsense came from Doflamingo now wouldn't nearly as bad as half of the crap he'd endured since making the mistake of befriending him.

"Fuck you."

For some reason Crocodile couldn't prevent the words from leaving his mouth. Doflamingo's statement, deprived of gender, identity, and replaced with pronunciations stressed to exhibit disgust and disappointment, made it hard for Crocodile to not repeat himself. He managed to stop himself from yelling, the muscles in his throat contracting the last second to produce more of a stuttered growl.

"See, there you go again!" Doflamingo waved his hand at Crocodile. "You're getting emotional over a few words. I call you anything less than what you want to be, and you freak the fuck out. You're still the same boy I followed into the desert. You want to be worshiped, but you certainly can't expect me to take you back home and pamper you if you're going to continue being this difficult."

"You piece of…" Crocodile sat upright, his left arm already raised, ready to hit the ground with a smack. The weight of his hook stopped him.

"Same for me," Doflamingo added, "I can't expect to continue to grow if I always have this perfect image of you staining my mind." He pointed the gun at Crocodile. "When there was a risk that you might be dead, I was strong. I got shit done, and yeah…I did it for you, but I became a name."

Doflamingo sniffed again, and this time Crocodile caught something glistening in the corner of the man's eye.

No. This was too much. It was embarrassing. Crocodile refused to have Doflamingo break into a fit right before shooting him.

This day cannot possibly get any worse. "Fuck you," Crocodile repeated. He hoisted himself up, ignoring the rush of blood, followed by a pattern of warmth and lightheaded dizziness. He stumbled his way up, heaving more than Doflamingo ever did during his violent sessions, and glared at the man sitting at the end of the table.

Now he was staring down at Doflamingo. It wasn't much, not when he knew there was nothing stopping him from being shot right in the heart, but it made so much of a difference to see a tired, bloodied, watery-eyed Doflamingo underneath him. Doflamingo could have the gun; Crocodile would go out with some dignity.

"A scared little boy?" Crocodile huffed. He lifted his hook at Doflamingo, catching Doflamingo's finger pressed firmly on the trigger. "Well, I think our current positions really prove who's who here, don't you think, _Doffy_?"

Oh, he was scared. Crocodile sure as hell didn't want to die yet. And not by Doflamingo's hand. Whitebeard was on his way, no? Why couldn't it have been him instead, instead of this idiot sitting before him?

Doflamingo feigned a chuckled. "Well…" Crocodile stared at the barrel aimed at him. "As much as I enjoyed all the fun we experienced together," he heard Doflamingo mutter, "I'm not sure I really want to continue this cycle. I mean, look where it's gotten us so far?"

Crocodile couldn't see everything, not with his hook still pointed at Doflamingo, but he knew Doflamingo's arm wasn't shaking anymore. The hand was holding the gun, firm, without so much as a minor twitch of the muscle. Crocodile wasn't shaking. He was sweating, and his breathing was out of control, but he was able to stand and face Doflamingo's bullshit with a straight face.

"Considering how difficult it is to kill you, well, at least _for you_ it is…"

Why in the hell didn't he at least look up some of those medical treatments?

He should've gone out more, maybe considered taking a break once in a while from all this business.

Even though Robin was against it, buying a miniature caiman would've been so cool.

Calling Mihawk more and gaining some Intel on Doflamingo would've been a good idea.

A lot of this could've been prevented if he just took a different route altogether.

Was this really just some endless cycle—

There wasn't any time to finish the thought as a loud series of gunshots were heard from upstairs.

Both men stopped; Doflamingo grabbing hold of himself, Crocodile lurching forward, neither prepared to hear the rush of bullets hitting something hard right above them. Crocodile came close to vomiting when it was over. He remained standing, his eyes never leaving the barrel, but his mind turned to the door. Something was moving around the living room, making enough noise for him to listen through layers of concrete. There was another gunshot, the pauses in between signifying to Crocodile that it was a different brand of weapon. More then just a few people were running around the ground level. He couldn't see Doflamingo, nor did he want to, but there seemed to be a silent agreement between him and the young man over what might be occurring right above them.

Crocodile lowered the hook, his arm now numb with weight and stiffened muscles. "Your men?"

Doflamingo broke his sorry look away from Crocodile, giving a nod before letting out a nervous chuckle. "And Whitebeard's," he finished.


	22. Together, At Last

**-Part 3-**

**-Now-**

Crocodile valued self-preservation. Sure, he had his ups and downs, but who didn't? He stared up at the ceiling, trying to catch whatever sounds he could make out, and was fully aware that Doflamingo shared the same thoughts as he did. Neither regarded the other's life as entirely worthwhile, but understood that if they wanted to live to see the next day they would need to work together long enough to escape Whitebeard's wrath.

"And then what?" Doflamingo asked. "We take a step on American soil and we've got Kaido up our ass."

"No, _you_ have Kaido up your ass," Crocodile corrected. He faced the walls and crossed his arms, regretting the lack of firearms. "I cross the border and I'm a free man."

"Not if I've anything to say about it." Doflamingo waved the gun at him, the muscles under his right eye twitching from the force.

Crocodile sighed, in no mood to deal with Doflamingo's attitude. Sure, just several minutes prior Doflamingo was ready to pull the trigger and end his life, but with the focus turned on dealing with a _real_ drug lord, suddenly whatever threats the younger man attempted to pull on him felt almost meaningless.

"Are we really having this discussion right now?" he asked, staring tiredly at the handgun. If he could he would have taken it from Doflamingo. The man probably wasn't going to survive this excursion. But the gunfire outside had indicated battle between two different groups, and he doubted he'd receive any courtesy from Doflamingo's lot. "Don't complain about Kaido going after you and your men if you've yet to deal with Whitebeard going after us."

Doflamingo limped over to the stairs, grabbed the railing. "I ought to just call them down and have them rip you a new one," he muttered.

Crocodile's eyes never left the handgun. "Go ahead, I'm sure they'll treat you with the same respect they did to me a few years back," he sarcastically spat back, raising his hook up to Doflamingo's face.

Doflamingo jolted backward. "Not so loud." He pointed up the stairs, at the closed door that could open at any second. "I don't care if it's quiet now, you need to shut up!"

So far two assaults had taken place above them. The first was the longest, causing so much disruption that both men underneath it all could hear nothing but the barrage of gunfire. The voices were too muffled to make out, but Doflamingo was determined to believe that his comrades were upstairs, holding their own. Several times it felt like the door would burst open, and both men, frozen in place, would end up riddled with bullets. But the sounds of footsteps never reached the door, and eventually the noise died down. Doflamingo stared at the handgun. Crocodile wondered whether Doflamingo remembered he was going to shoot him. Instead Doflamingo asked him why he gave up on the surgeries, this time without sounding so snide. But the second wave hit, and from the sound of it it was taking place outside of the house. This once didn't last too long, but stuck underneath a basement made the wait just as torturous as the first time.

It was quiet now. Had been for a while, but Crocodile wasn't eager to open the door and check the damages. They were at a huge disadvantage. They were downstairs, and there was only one exit, and it was up a relatively thin stairway. Both knew it wouldn't require a group of men to slaughter them, just one man with a loaded gun. He wouldn't have to waste too many bullets either. One for the idiot who lead the way, and maybe a few for the poor soul who would try to fight back, or back their way into the basement, trapping and opening themselves to a far worse end.

"I should have the gun," Crocodile muttered. "My reflexes are faster," he explained, though his tone made it obvious that this wasn't the main reason behind the decision. "You've injured yourself, and while I might not be in the best shape, at least I've two eyes to aim accordingly."

"I suppose you'll want me to lead as well?" Doflamingo asked, removing himself from the stairs to face Crocodile.

It as the first time in a long while since the two stared at one another face-to-face. Doflamingo wasn't standing straight, he couldn't with the amount of injuries he obtained, and yet he surpassed Crocodile in height. He knew it was a possibility when he saw the man lying on the floor, twisted in agony, but witnessing it now brought mild insecurity, even now.

What the hell was wrong with him?

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Doflamingo growled, shaking his head and throwing his arm down to the side. The sounds upstairs were beginning to subside. There was just stomping. There was nothing. One side was running low on bullets. Or losing. It hardly mattered since Crocodile knew Whitebeard's side was at a much higher advantage. "Shit, what do we do?"

It was a fine question. Crocodile couldn't care what happened to Doflamingo, but he needed to get the hell out of the country. If Doflamingo's men were upstairs then that meant he would need Doflamingo to survive long enough for him to reach a decent escape route. Robin mentioned Spider's Café. That meant she was taking the underground route. He knew he had about an hour or two before the path up north was closed off, a result of his own protocol hammered into her. He would need a car.

But first, he needed a weapon to defend himself with.

"Give me the gun," he said.

"Fuck off," Doflamingo replied, his shoulders heaving.

"No, really," Crocodile persisted. "We both need firearms if we want to make it out alive. You have no depth perception, and you're injured."

Doflamingo sneered. "Your point?" he asked, raising the weapon back at Crocodile.

Crocodile swatted the gun away with his hook. "I can bring someone down and supply us with another weapon. You can't. Hand the gun to me and we have a chance at getting through this." He lowered his hook, replacing it with his hand. He waited for Doflamingo to offer the weapon to him, but was given another indifferent stare. "Look, if your men are up there they're going to expect to see you alive, correct?"

"Well, yes." Doflamingo shrugged at him. "But if anything, it just reaffirms that I don't need you in order to get through this."

"You're not looking at the entire picture," Crocodile said. "You have your men, but you lack a proper escape route."

He saw Doflamingo reach for his covered eye. The adrenaline was keeping him upright, but it wasn't enough to quell the pain. Doflamingo had to know it would slow him down. It didn't matter if he had friends or not, without a plan he'd succumb eventually.

"Do you know where Spider's Café is?" Crocodile asked.

"I take it by your condescending tone I should?"

Crocodile grinned at him, relieved to hear that usual, Doflamingo-ignorance. "There are two underground routes underneath the café," he began, "one leads north, close to the border. The other leads further down south. You need to avoid Kaido, correct?" Doflamingo's head snapped upright. Crocodile pretended not to notice. "You take the underground path south, and if you're smart you'll keep with it until you and your men reach South America."

Doflamingo's arms were shaking. Why were they shaking? Crocodile couldn't bring himself to dwell on it. Just thinking about his own situation made him nauseous.

He needed Doflamingo alive.

Finally, Doflamingo's shoulder sank. "And I should believe you _because_?"

Crocodile rubbed his heels against the cool pavement. "I need a ride," he answered.

Doflamingo gestured at the hook with the gun. "Can't drive with just the right?"

"I can manage, but seeing you let Robin get away with the car, I'll need–"

"Robin?"

Crocodile groaned. "I do not have time for this!" He grabbed the gun from Doflamingo. "Listen to me," he demanded, taking a step towards Doflamingo and closing what little space there was between them. "I do not want to work with you. I don't want to see you leave this goddamn room alive, much less have to ask for your assistance. But I'll be goddamned if I die here knowing I could have escaped." He pointed the gun at Doflamingo. "You're a dead man walking. You can say whatever the hell you want, but unless you and your men can outrun two Yonko you're going to have to accept that you need my help."

Maybe it was the pain, or maybe Doflamingo was smarter than he looked, or, _better yet_ , the gun snatched from his hands was now pointed at him, but Doflamingo took a slight step back, his hands still and fingers extended, hesitating to announce submission. Crocodile waited to see if Doflamingo would try another sneak attack, but he remained in place, shaking and snickering.

"You better fucking take the lead," he growled.

"I intend to," Crocodile replied. He moved his finger towards the trigger before lifting it away from Doflamingo. He knew Doflamingo saw it though.

There was another round of gunfire, followed by something screeching. Tires? No, that couldn't be it. It had to be something else. Crocodile tried to focus. The sounds of the rounds being fired weren't as varied or intense. It could only mean that there were less people going at each other, and he doubted that Doflamingo's men were on the winning side.

"We need to get moving," he said, pointing the hook upwards to the door. He didn't give Doflamingo any time to react, and made his way up the stairs.

"What's the plan?"

Crocodile listened to the staggered steps behind him, the creaks that Doflamingo left with every step. "Don't get killed," he answered. "If you can, get to the nearest car."

"And then?"

"Assuming the police aren't invested in another bloodbath…" He finished going up the final few steps before stowing the gun into his pants. He grabbed the doorknob. "We drive. Not fast though. The moment we hit traffic we need to disappear."

Doflamingo tapped his shoulder. "Not fast?"

"Unless the police are involved," Crocodile said. "This isn't the movies. If we drive fast we'll attract attention, so unless the police are already after us we need to make sure to blend in."

"Had that experience of getting…" Crocodile winced when he heard Doflamingo cough. It was hoarse and wet and accompanied with a hand wiping against cloth. Blood? "…Chased by the police?"

"I've had enough." Crocodile turned the knob. What was the plan again? He could swing the door open and reach for the gun before getting noticed. He would swing the door, grab the gun, and shoot at whatever moved. He could continue being cautious. He would open the door nice and slow and not make too much noise, and maybe nobody would notice. It was getting awful quiet. Maybe being quicker was the better option.

He swung the door open. He kept his hand on the knob, by accident. He reflexes were off. Doflamingo was staring at him, and there was just too much at stake. Whatever the reason, he didn't let go of the knob, and he stumbled forward. The door swung only about halfway before colliding into something, saving Crocodile from further embarrassment and allowing him a chance to recover.

"Holy shit," Doflamingo muttered.

Crocodile saw that there was a body stopping the door from going any further. He quietly observed its odd position, counted the visible bullet holes across the chest region and concluded that an automatic was somewhere on the property. "Yours?" he asked Doflamingo.

"No," Doflamingo answered. That meant the automatic was on his side, for now. "I don't see a gun on him."

"Odds are one of your men took it," Crocodile remarked. Maybe. Hopefully. Crocodile's hand hovered over his weapon just in case Doflamingo got any ideas. Things had been turned over, moved around, furniture ruined. The walls were filed with holes. He caught sight of a few blood splatters on the wall, telling a gruesome story, but without a nearby body it was better to assume that the men were still alive and out of the house. Not just Doflamingo's, but Whitebeards. "We need to get out of here."

"Uh-huh…" Doflamingo hobbled over and leaned against the wall. He looked down a hall, then over into the living room. "I don't see anyone."

"Doesn't matter," Crocodile said.

What were the odds that any of Doflamingo's men had survived the onslaught? Crocodile didn't want to think about. He was screwed without a ride. Why did Doflamingo let Robin off? Why didn't he let her take her own damn car? Why did they share a ride?

"What the fuck!" Doflamingo suddenly jumped off of the wall and ran into the living room. He was a bloody mess, but somehow he maneuvered around the tossed furniture and knelt down. "Fuck, fuck, fuck!" Crocodile saw him reach down and touch something. Someone? Crocodile was reluctant to find out. There were several broken windows, and just because it was quiet now didn't mean that Whitebeard was out of the way.

"Doflamingo," he muttered. He took a few steps out of the hallway, opening his view and catching the grisly sight of two long legs spread out, pants sticky and soaked in coagulated blood. He stopped. There was no need to take another step. "Doflamingo," he said again. His voice was less hushed than before. "Doflamingo, you need to get back over here."

Gunfire went off. It seemed far off. Too far. Crocodile went into the hallway and into one of the rooms. He jumped over a body, only to kneel in front of the window. He carefully lifted one of the curtains and checked the side of the house. Nothing. He moved the curtains more in order to catch a glimpse of the backyard. The view was less than adequate, but he detected no movements. It was quiet. The house was quiet.

Crocodile moved his fingers away from the curtains. At some point the battle had moved further into the neighborhood. Doflamingo's men managed to break into the house, but could not handle the numbers, weapons, or sheer force that they were up against. At least one was dead, and now the rest were in a car, manipulating traffic and ruining his chances of escape.

Crocodile slipped down. He stared at the large, bloodied up body spread across the floor. Half of his face was missing. Crocodile counted the seconds, waiting to see how long it would take before another round was fired. He made it to ten before he heard Doflamingo's hands hit the floor. Crocodile crawled over to the body, moving in tandem with the frantic smacks. Had Whitebeard done away with all of Doflamingo's men? Would they return, or were they satisfied with the damage they had caused?

It was quiet. Too quiet. Was the battle over?

He fished through the larger man's person, picking through his pockets of spare change and bullets, but no keys. Crocodile left the room. He found Doflamingo still hovering over what remained of his comrade.

"Doflamingo." There he was, shaking, near rocking, looking pathetic and although Crocodile couldn't see his face, he knew by the way Doflamingo touched the corpse that he was finally regretting ever having come down here.

"He didn't have the keys," Doflamingo commented. He looked up at Crocodile, and it took a second for him to realize the man wasn't wearing his shades. The visible eye was cold and emotionless, dark and impossible to read. It defied the will of the body and told Crocodile nothing. It made him rethink everything.

"We need to leave."

Doflamingo gave one final glance at the sprawled body lying next to him. "I don't know where Trebol and Pica are," he said back, his eye finally giving way to worry.

Crocodile shrugged at him. "You can try calling them if you want," he suggested. "It looks like this place is empty for now. We have maybe five minutes to get the hell out of here before the police break down the doors."

"Do you think they cut the lines?" Doflamingo asked. His voice was hoarse again.

"Did you forget you stole my phone?" he answered before walking past the distraught man. "I'm going to see if there are any weapons nearby."

Doflamingo said nothing. Crocodile began making his way into the kitchen, avoiding shards of glass and paying attention to the few splatters of blood marking the walls and floors. He heard Doflamingo behind him, fiddling with the phone and falling back against the sofa. He sounded slow. He sounded weak. In any other situation Crocodile would have laughed about it. He would have openly mocked Doflamingo for falling apart. But he didn't. Doflamingo was worried, but he was worried too. And Crocodile was sore and his back ached and he knew the police would arrive soon, if not them then Whitebeard, and he had no solid means of escape. He couldn't reach Robin or Daz, and right now the only means of support he did have was a man he could not kill, no matter how much he wanted to.

Crocodile spotted a body curled in the corner of the kitchen, his hand on one of the many holes covering him. His shirt was drenched in dark red blood, and there was a small pool underneath him. But he had a gun. He took a step and landed on something broken that shattered underneath his weight. He though he heard something under all the cracking, like a sigh or something not quite right, but there was a loud noise in the living room, and Doflamingo moving shit around, and swearing and he sounding like he might cry at any moment, and it distracted him.

Crocodile was caught off guard, and when he realized he had been right about the sound, that it was a sigh, a moan from a dying man who's consciousness was teetering, it was too late for him to step back or move out of the way. He saw the gun raised up at him, and Crocodile naturally brought his up, but by that point the trigger went off, the man jerked back into the cabinets, and Crocodile stumbled back. He felt hot, searing lightening hit him in the stomach, spreading and burning his insides, tearing him apart. Crocodile shot back and blew the man's face away, and once he felt the blood hit his face he dropped his gun and he fell down to the floor.

"Fuck!" Crocodile brought a hand to the wound. He was bleeding out of his lower abdomen. Not his stomach, but the lower abdomen…how many organs were hit? Not the stomach, otherwise he'd feel like hell right now, but something was hit. He could use his legs, so the spine was safe. He felt so much worse. Was it a kidney? Intestines? Were his digestive juices pouring into him?

"Crocodile?"

Shadows were moving above him. It was Doflamingo waving at him, trying to catch his attention. Crocodile lifted his hand up and stared at the growing red spot on his shirt. It was spreading, and his hand was covered in blood. He could see the creases of his hand lined with fresh vibrant red. Remarkable. He stared at the wound. Nothing was spurting out, and nothing looked distended.

"Crocodile? Shit, what happened?"

The blood spread over his shirt, getting into the patterns, redefining them with a deep dark red that just splashed its way across the cloth. How much time was he wasting sitting and staring at it? The police could be on their way. He needed to move, fight the pain, the icy-hot that clawed at his insides and made it so hard to breath. What if Whitebeard and his men decided to take another look? He could not die here.

"Crocodile."

He looked away from the wound and up at Doflamingo. He was gawking at his wound as though it were his own. He was hurt, offended, and he looked like he would start some kind of tantrum. Was it because some stranger had blown a hole into him first? Was Doflamingo upset that he would now be burdened with another man's injuries?

"I found a gun," Crocodile heaved. He lifted his arm a few inches, intent on pointing to the gun that was slipping out of the limp hand. It felt so heavy, and soon there was a loud clang from the base of the hook hitting the floor.

"You're bleeding," Doflamingo said.

Crocodile ignored him. "We need to get out of here." He tried lifting his left arm again, and this time made it up a few more inches before the weight of the hook got to him. Stupid thing. Why the fuck did it have to be so damn big? "Check if he has any keys on him."

Doflamingo flinched when the hook smacked against the flooring. Why? It was his fault he was like this. But he went over to the body and went through the man's pockets, and seeing Doflamingo listen to him for once helped ease the pain. "Nobody answered," Doflamingo said. "I don't know where anyone is."

Crocodile held in a breath as he forced himself back up, grabbing the counter for support. "You can't think about that right now," he said. Touched his forehead. He felt cool and wet.

He heard something jingle. He opened his eyes. He wasn't sure when he had closed them, but he saw Doflamingo standing in front of him, holding the gun in one hand, keys in the other. "What are we going to do now?" he asked, and this time Crocodile really had to think about it.

"Spider Café is about an hour's drive, less if we book it once we're out of town." He wasn't sure if he was hearing sirens in the distance, or if he was losing blood and maybe his mind. It was getting harder to concentrate. "Please tell me that thing has an alarm?"

_How on earth will we make it?_

_He looks just about ready to pass out again. And what about you? You've got your good hand trying to cover up a bullet wound. Spider Café is in the middle of nowhere, and it's getting hotter, it's hot, but it's cold, and he won't stop looking at you._

"Do you need some help?"

"No," Crocodile remarked quickly. He removed himself from the counter and headed to the backyard. The cars would be out front, but he headed to the backyard. Doflamingo didn't stop him, but Crocodile was thankful he didn't have to see the look on his face when he stumbled over broken glass and remains, taking the longer and more arduous way.

* * *

Finding the car wasn't difficult. There were only two parked on the lawn, another car in the middle of the street. Doflamingo looked around, possibly for something recognizable. Crocodile told him to hurry up. There just wasn't enough time for him to worry about his missing friends.

Doflamingo hit the alarm. It was a sports car. Crocodile was just thankful there weren't any bullets to make it stand out any more than it already did.

"People are staring," Doflamingo murmured through his covered mouth. It did very little in hiding the damage he'd been dealt. Their clothes were drenched in sweat, dirt and blood. Crocodile was sporting a giant hook and a gun, and Doflamingo was one eye short and covered in gashes and bruises.

"They won't say anything," he muttered.

"Wont they?" Doflamingo asked. He walked to the passenger's side before tossing the keys over the car to Crocodile. Between the two of them, Crocodile felt he was least likely to pass out on the wheel.

"You don't fuck around with the Yonko," Crocodile stated. He leaned against the car for a moment before jamming the key in the lock. He always wanted to jump right into a fancy car like this one. No roof and fine leather furnishing? This was the kind of car you had fun with. Right now Crocodile could barely keep up a dignified appearance without wincing from the intense pain that was spreading across his lower back.

"We fucked with the Yonko," Doflamingo replied. He coughed into his hand and pulled it away, making a slight face when he saw the light splatter he left behind.

"Yeah, well," Crocodile swung the door open before hissing out a sharp exhale. "Get in the damn car."

There were several members of the neighborhood peering through the windows, a few braver souls looking through cracked doors, fewer standing on the porch or lawn. They weren't saying anything, just staring and observing the oddity currently taking place. Crocodile looked down at the giant red stain on his shirt, then at Doflamingo's wretched form. After the first incident with Whitebeard he made sure to leave no trace of his existence. He wanted power, and he made plans to eventually subvert the bastard, but he also wanted remain in good terms with everyone around him. He didn't care about people, what they thought about him, but if he could undermine the world while still having everyone believe he was a good samaritan, then all the more to him.

He had failed. He was a goddamn failure of a man. He could never show his face in this country again without running the risk of being taken into custody, and he knew what sorts of fucked up things they did to their prisoners. He couldn't imagine what they'd do to someone like him. It didn't matter that Whitebeard failed to kill him. He was dead. Nothing mattered anymore because the police would arrive and find his fingerprints all over _everything_. They'd mark it all as evidence, but they'd steal it. Assuming Robin didn't get her greedy hands all over his accounts, they'd take his money. They'd take everything he worked so hard for.

"Crocodile," Doflamingo said. "We need to get going."

The sirens were real this time. Crocodile undid the latch holding his hook in place. He handed the prosthetic limb to Doflamingo before turning on the engine and grabbing the clutch. His stump was pale and sweaty, but it wasn't from the heat. He felt like shit, and the vibrations produced by the powerful engine didn't help.

His hand squeezed the clutch. Crocodile stared at the road, just several feet away. His legs were trembling and he wondered if the bullet was still bouncing through his internal organs. He shifted gears and winced.

"You're bleeding," Doflamingo pointed. He took the gold hook and placed it behind his chair before lowering and moving closer to Crocodile. He saw a large hand hover over the wound. "When you move you bleed out," Doflamingo commented. "It needs to get covered."

He didn't want Doflamingo touching him. He had no choice.

_This was all his fault!_

Fucking hell. Crocodile didn't want to die of a bullet wound caused by a dying man. Why did Doflamingo have to get so fucking emotional? Why didn't Doflamingo just shoot him right there in the basement? Why didn't he listen to Robin? Why didn't he just shoot Doflamingo the second he saw him? Why didn't he run away when he had the chance?

He had no choice. His teeth grit when he felt pressure push against the bullet wound. Crocodile let go of the clutch and grabbed the wheel. His stump slid over it, his feet curled and his jaw started to ache. He fought to keep his eyes open and not hit Doflamingo in the face, but didn't stop himself from sneering at him.

"Yeah, yeah," Doflamingo muttered. "Just drive already."

He made it sound so simple. The pressure and warmth was there, covering him and stopping too much blood from seeping out, but it was so much more complicated than that. Crocodile removed his foot from the break pedal and pressed on the gas, and this time it was Doflamingo arching his head back, trying to control just how much of his whimpering would escape.

Hearing Doflamingo did nothing for him. Seeing Doflamingo regret and mourn his friend did not make him feel better. Seeing Doflamingo now, bandaged and bruised and in desperate need of a medical care, left him very worried. But nothing compared to the worst of it. There was one final thought that lingered in the back of his mind, crawling its way forward since he left the room, and was now taking center attention as he drove off the lawn and into the road, feeling Doflamingo hold on to him and keep him from slipping into unconsciousness.

Right. Doflamingo had been right.

They left the room together, and if Crocodile didn't want them to die together, then he knew the only way out of this mess was for them to continue working together for as long as they could, until they reached Spider Café.


	23. The Desert

**Part 3**

**-Now-**  

Car chases were nothing like the ones displayed in theatres. Crocodile remembered sitting on his stomach, his hand in a bag of spicy chips and eyes glued to the television, licking his bright red lips as he witnessed the testosterone fueled, action-packed blockbuster from the year before take place. Cars crashing. Heavy gunfire. The glass would shatter when a bullet penetrated it, causing shards to spray out and leave the back of heads exposed to violence. Some unlucky bastard would get a bullet in the back of his head. Ooh. A car would flip into the air, perform a somersault, and then hit the asphalt with a cataclysmic bang. Bones broken, blood spilled, fuel from the car leaked out into the freeway and ignited in heavy flame. An explosion. Hellfire.

Real life car chases did not last three minutes, five minutes tops. Anyone with half a brain recognized how insufferable movies dedicated around the idea of car chases were. One can only tolerate so much action for so long before they grew tired, bored, annoyed by the repetitive actions of turning heads, the wheel of the car, around the corner. The gun only carried so many bullets, and the tank so much oil. Only an idiot would direct an hour-long car chase. Only the most desperate would extend the duration of real car chase. Even a brain dead fool would gather his tank would get him so far, and that the longer he drove, the deeper into the hole he fell. God forbid he shot a cop. Bastard might as well have drive himself off the freeway if he killed someone; would save himself a lot of trouble.

The other thing was the brain. The first several minutes of an actual car chase are similar to a cocaine high. The second the flashing lights of the police cars were spotted in the rear view, the pain disappeared. The surrounding world vanished, replaced with an exhilarating sense of being. Crocodile experienced it before. He slammed the gas, hitting seventy-eighty-ninety in seconds, smile widening as he stared forward at the long road ahead, feeling muscles tingle, fueled by a racing heart. But a cocaine high didn’t last long, nor did the thrill of a high speed car chase. The world had to come crashing down at some point, and when it did the thoughts of reason, bargaining and desperation arrived. 

“How fast are we going?” Doflamingo asked.

Crocodile shut his eyes, letting cold sweat run down the lids before attempting to read the speedometer. That speedometer was just above the fuel marker. There was no avoiding the taunting red arrow.

“About forty,” he answered. They were just under half a tank.

Doflamingo fiddled with the safety before sighing aloud. “Get in the center lane, push to fifty.” 

Traffic was bad. Police cars were speeding across red lights, going in every direction except for theirs, looking for the cause of the massive shoot out in the once quiet, mostly white suburbs. This massacre, which, by now, they had to have known, was both drug and crime related. And despite being hidden amongst other cars, Crocodile knew the car they were driving stood out. He and Doflamingo could wipe the increasing cold sweat from their brows, Crocodile remaining hunched over to hide his bullet wound, and Doflamingo looking downward to keep his facial wounds hidden, but it wouldn’t take much for someone to notice there was something wrong. Crocodile huffed. “Do you think they know?”

“Only one way to find out,” Doflamingo replied. Crocodile could see the deadly shadows formed underneath Doflamingo’s eyes. “How much longer till we reach the café?”

Crocodile sighed. He was ready to roll his eyes in annoyance, but the act of his lungs exhaling was enough to cause a painful spasm from inside. “I already told you; about an hour,” he answered through clenched teeth.

“It’s been at least twenty,” Doflamingo commented.

He bit down. If they survived this, Crocodile would need to visit a dentist. His stomach felt like it was melting, and the back of his mouth was acidic. It was as though the bullet tore a small hole into the pouch, resulting in slow, but increasingly insurmountable pain. For the first few minutes of the ride it was bearable. Crocodile could ignore it. Whenever they passed sirens, the pain dulled. It became less of a needle digging underneath his nail, a crack of a whip against the gums, lightening tunneling into his eye, and more of a nasty blow to the stomach. But then they would hit traffic, or Crocodile’s subconscious made the mistake of assuming their eventual safety, and the pain would return. The blow turned into a nasty hole leaking stomach acid, and that acid poured and burned his innards. His intestines were on fire, kidneys red hot and swelling. 

The signs above were blurry green and white boxes filled with black and white nonsense. They were abstract art Crocodile couldn’t understand, not without blinking several times in order to get the shapes to change into organized words. He saw the names form, the routes and the highway numbers, and realized he passed the desired exit.

“We’re taking the next exit,” Crocodile announced. “After that it should only take about half an hour, if I maintain a good speed.”

It would be at least forty to fifty minutes, at best.

“Goody,” Doflamingo said with a lick of sarcasm. Crocodile wanted to kick him out of the car. What good was Doflamingo? They were nearly home free. Did Crocodile really need that added protection?

He turned the wheel sharply to the right, wincing as the car rolled over a breaker. The pain was unreal. It gathered in the back of his throat and made him want to vomit it all out. Crocodile was starting to consider it. It would mean less acid pouring out of that pesky hole.

“Tick-tock,” Doflamingo sang through a pained smile. Crocodile edged them on to the shoulder that would get them away from the city, and hopefully out of Whitebeard’s grasp.

How much longer until Whitebeard or his men informed the police of the issue? The police could be bought. That was another thing that was never brought up in the movies: the police abusing their power and chasing the wrong criminals. Crocodile wasn’t going to pretend he was innocent of any crimes, but as far as he was concerned the acts he committed were nothing compared to what Whitebeard did. Crocodile sold stolen drugs, but it was Whitebeard and his men that were controlling a drug war that stretched across two countries.

“Please tell me your café has a first aid kit?” Doflamingo asked. He wiped his good eye. Crocodile caught sight of Doflamingo’s hand, wet with precious fluid and shaking from lack of it. “Or at least a bottle of something strong?”

“A few,” Crocodile answered. He told himself Doflamingo was worse off. The hole oozing blood and bodily fluids? Did it really compare to the hell he put Doflamingo through? If Doflamingo could do it, then so could he. “Don’t expect me to patch up your wounds once we get there.”

Doflamingo chuckled. “Oh, don’t worry about me. You worry about yourself.”

Crocodile kept his eyes on the road, holding his lips together as he heard Doflamingo adjust his seat all the way back. He was back to fantasizing about kicking Doflamingo out of the door. The sirens were long gone. Was Whitebeard gone as well? Crocodile rubbed is chapped lips, feeling the ends of his eyes collect water as the clouds that covered the city were replaced with the heat of the sun, the dust of the earth.

“ _Doflamingo_.”

“Don’t worry,” Doflamingo said, raising a hand up and waving the gun against the air. ”I’m listening. You give the word, and I’ll be up and unleashing the blood orgy of your dreams.” His hand swayed from side to side, and Crocodile, knowing just how fast they were going, how much damage Doflamingo retained from their fight, was impressed that it kept so high, that the gun was pointed straight up; cocked and loaded. It was just like Doflamingo to do that. They were barely out of the city, and the bastard was showing off the gun like it was some newly bought present.

It really was hard to deny that there wasn’t something impressive about that level of confidence.

* * *

 

Sometime after minute twenty, a signal went off in Crocodile mind. It was stacked in-between the layers of thoughts and nerves that scratched against his brain like nails on a chalkboard. It started low, a mere suggestion, not even that…but a fear. A thought built on fear and worry because things were going so perfectly, so perfectly well that Crocodile needed something to worry about.

_You’re dying._

Crocodile put it aside and pushed his foot against the gas pedal. They were low on gas, but they were so close. Just another twenty minutes away. It was the heat getting to him, the lack of clouds and the sun beating down on the back of his head. His hair was glued to his neck and face, trapping all that hot air from escaping. The more Crocodile thought about it, the more convinced he was it was fear trying to control him. Doflamingo was passed out, barely alive, but _still alive_ , and although Crocodile was in pain he managed to persuade himself that it wasn’t as bad as before. Really, it wasn’t.

But the signal persisted, crawling above Crocodile’s numbed leg, his stiff shoulder and filled bladder, suggesting to him that the decrease of pain might be a sign, that his racing heart, tired muscles and speckled might all be correlated.

 _Am I dying?_ Crocodile began to wonder. 

Their speed began to slow. The threat wasn’t as high as it was when they were still in the city, but Crocodile’s bullet wound turned into an uncomfortable simmer. It was tolerable. The heat from the sun was more upsetting and it caused his vision to shake and blur. As far as pain went, things could certainly be worse, and that worried Crocodile.

He licked his bottom lips. His dry tongue was soft and leathery against the tender, flaky chapped skin. The sore flicker made his eyes twitch. The back of his dry throat alerted him he was in desperate need of water. The thought of water made him eager to relieve himself. The signal continued to persist.

He needed a break. Just a few minutes. A moment to stretch his legs. He needed something to hide behind. Crocodile checked the rear view and saw a minivan trailing behind them. Judging by the make, it was safe to assume that it wasn’t Whitebeard, certainly not the police. He turned on the car’s lights and drove off to the side, coming to a slow when his vision was capable of making out a large figure in the distance. A boulder or rock? Crocodile didn’t care.

He hit the brakes harder than he intended. The seatbelt pushed against his ribcage, sending a shockwave of spasms across his body. A rush of adrenaline swam down his spine. It dulled the pain in his stomach, became numbing as it spread into his limbs. The tingle at the ends of his fingers was ominous, like it was the last soothing sensation he’d ever feel.

Next to him, Doflamingo turned on his side, groaning from the rough brake. “What’s going on? Why’d we stop?” 

The signal persisted. “I need to piss,” Crocodile answered him, slowly pulling out from the seat. He struggled unlocking the door. His arms were sticky with sweat. His clothes glued to his body with cold wet adhesive. The heat between his legs was a disgusting swamp. Crocodile wanted to kick the door open, but lacked the necessary strength. 

Another car was spotted in the distance. Like the one before, nothing about it felt threatening. Crocodile looked down at the asphalt, could weigh out the burden of his full bladder, combined with the heat of the sun and lack of shade, and debated if he had the strength to hold it in until the car passed. 

Are you serious, he thought to himself, but Crocodile already knew the answer to that.

He turned and saw Doflamingo peering up at him, the shade of his hand covering his battered face. Crocodile distracted himself by removing his coat, sliding the damp cloth off of his shoulders before tossing it into the car, next to Doflamingo.

“Give me a gun,” he said, waving with his stump. A small handgun flew right out of the car, flipping high into the air before landing several feet away from Crocodile. He was too tired to complain. Crocodile walked over and picked the gun up and was relieved to see that the safety was on. Very little is required to pull a trigger. 

Doflamingo held tightly to the fur. “You think there’s anything in the trunk?” He asked Crocodile. “I could really use some water…lord o’ lordy, do I feel like shit. Man, Croc, you really had to lay it on thick with me, didn’t you?”

Crocodile wandered over to a small boulder. A rock big enough to hide behind, but small enough for him to see have some vision when he’d squat.

He was hesitant to do it. Crocodile glanced and saw Doflamingo still holding on to the coat. It was getting late, but the heat persisted. The dry, unbearable heat. Was Doflamingo really cold? Crocodile played with the button.

“We’re back.” 

“What?” Crocodile asked into the wind. His shaking hand hovered over the zipper. Crocodile fought the anxiety and looked over his shoulder, spotting Doflamingo in the driver’s seat, covered in the coat. So he _was_ cold.

“We always keep coming back here.” Crocodile could barely make out the words. The wind was picking up. It would get cold soon. If Doflamingo was cold now…

“What the hell are you talking about?” Crocodile yelled back. A cold shiver ran down his wet spine. He could feel the patches of his clothes that were soaked in his sweat, making him shiver. He needed to piss. The wind dries some of his messy hair and lifted it off. His vision blurred again, turning the dark strands into something alive. They curled and twisted under the wind’s influence, reached out to Doflamingo who was curling and becoming part of the coat and the car.

“Hmm, the desert. We always keep coming back to the desert. For once, it’d be nice if we went somewhere nicer, greener,” Doflamingo said. Was it even Doflamingo? Crocodile squint his eyes, trying to fix them on the dark mass spread inside the car, the single droplet of gold at the center. “You ever see the ocean, Croc? I did. Where I lived. I was a short walk away from one.”

 _It’s not that big of a deal._ He thought he saw blood. The coat was expensive. Everything Crocodile bought was expensive. The hook, the rings, the shoes. What type of fur did he and Doflamingo soil? Mink? Was it mink? Crocodile couldn’t remember. All there was was the car, the hodgepodge of red and yellow and black and green. Those colors were rotting. Crocodile stumbled back. He reached out. Nothing. His bladder relaxed and the tip of his middle finger touched against the smooth, warm mineral of the boulder. A terrible thought arose:

_We’re dying. We’re not going to make it._

“Crocodile?”

His vision came to. “What?”

Doflamingo rested a shoulder on the door of the car, looking at him. Crocodile couldn’t tell what look he was making. He was too far away. “What now?” Doflamingo pointed a finger and waved it between the two of them.

Crocodile heaved. His ribs stretched outwards, and he was welcomed with a whimper, a memory of pain. “What about it?” he asked.

“Well, you have a gun. I have a gun. We’re in the middle of the desert,” Doflamingo began. Crocodile rolled whatever saliva remained in his mouth and swallowed. Doflamingo didn’t sound nearly as close to death as he did. “I imagine Spider Café is going to stick out like a sore thumb out here…?” 

An offensive examination, and now there was nothing left to swallow. “You want to off me now?” Crocodile asked, feeling the cool of the metal as he slid a finger down the side of his gun.

If Doflamingo decided to turn on him now, it was over. Doflamingo had the car, had the advantage of being in a vehicle that offered some protection. All Crocodile had was a large rock. He could barely stand up, his eyes functioning without his vision mixing the colors, the shapes disintegrating. 

“No, I want to know what we’ll do from here,” Doflamingo answered. He opened the car door and crawled out, leaned his back clumsily against the car before attempting to force a grin on his pained face. “We’re more than capable of working together, you see. Look what we can achieve together.”

Was it intended to be taken as a joke? Crocodile wanted it so, but knew it was far from the truth. Doflamingo, barely able to stay on his two feet, bloodied and covered in bruises, bones broken and his eye permanently damaged, was acting as though everything had fallen perfectly into place. _We can work together?_ Well, who the fuck cares? Crocodile certainly didn’t. And Doflamingo sleeping in a car while he drove their asses out in the middle of a desert could hardly be called teamwork. As usual, he was stuck dragging useless little Doflamingo around.

“We’re on the run from a drug lord,” was all Crocodile chose to say.

Doflamingo raised a finger at him. “We’re still alive,” he said. 

“Barely,” Crocodile replied with a stiff shrug.

“I still have people up north,” Doflamingo persisted. Did he forget he lost at least three men to Kaido and the police? Was Doflamingo incapable of caring? Was he that obsessed, love struck over some unimaginable power fantasy? “Once things cool down, and after Kaido gives up on the chase… Crocodile, we can still take–”

It was too much. “After the bullshit we’ve put ourselves through, and everything you had the fucking nerve to say to me in the basement; you _still_ want to drag me further back into your hell?” Crocodile seethed. The front teeth were clenched so tight pain shot up his gums. He clenched the gun, his arm shaking-threatening to point it right at Doflamingo’s messed up head.

Doflamingo saw, and he turned his head slightly before falling into a small pout. “Don’t be like that, Croc.”

It was like talking to a damn wall! So frustrating, pointless, and it made Crocodile want to throw his bloody gun and just give up. Doflamingo. What the hell was he? How could he keep going, after all of this? Was this love, psychotic obsession, boredom, a demented mixture of both?  

Crocodile sighed. Blood poured from his wound as he exhaled, and the ends of his eyes clouded with small tears. “Doflamingo, listen,” he said with pained, _dying_ words. He stared deep, as best as he could, into the younger man’s dull blue eye. His throat tightened as he faced the sad fact that whatever he would say would amount to nothing. He already knew it was pointless trying to reason, but still he spoke; “I don’t want anything to do with you, Dofla–”

The roar of engines echoed in the winds. Both men turned to the origins of the frightening sound, back in the direction they had started from, and saw something rolling forward. A series of cars were driving at uniform speed, with one or two slowing down just so that the driver could rev up the engine and let out another warning cry. It wasn’t to alert anyone in front of them, but rather to call themselves to attention. Doflamingo turned himself around, still holding on to the door as his knees buckled. It took a few seconds for Crocodile’s vision to adjust and for his eyes to lock on to the flags attached to several of the cars. His body shook. 

It wasn’t over. In a last act of gaining control, to prove a point and assert his authority, Whitebeard sent his men out to chase after them. No, to chase after Crocodile. They probably didn’t know Doflamingo existed. Doflamingo’s men were thoughtless casualties, meat blocks that got in the way of capturing their intended target. This was the old man’s last chance, Crocodile could tell by the number of cars and the massive dust cloud they left behind that the bastard wanted him bad. Oh, and there was a good chance the old man was in one of those cars right now, red faced and scowling and rubbing his forehead, thinking up the right way to end Crocodile’s life. 

“Fuck,” Crocodile mouthed. He had to think. His options were limited. Whatever decision he made, chances were it would be the most important decision of his life.

 _I could run to the car._ The car Doflamingo was leaning all over. Oh, but Doflamingo had his hand on the door, and he had that sinister, frightening animal of a look about him that told Crocodile he wasn’t in the mood to try and take down an armada. Crocodile swore under his breath. No, Doflamingo would surely betray him now. They were both in terrible physical condition. He was dying. If Doflamingo was smart enough he’d drive off and leave him in the dust. Better yet, alert them of Crocodile’s position. Get on Whitebeard’s good side while he still had the chance. That’s what Crocodile would do in this situation. If he wanted to get out of here, he’d have to shoot Doflamingo, _betray_ him before Doflamingo had the chance to do the same to him! It was his best chance at freedom! 

Crocodile squeezed the harness. His arm trembled. _Was it_ …he was so numb right now. Was there another option? 

 _Yes._ He could stay right where he was. Even if he did drive off, chances were some of those cars would follow. And the car was low on gas. If Crocodile chose to stay behind, face his maker, at least he could go out the way great men before him did. Crocodile could take out as many of those bastards as he could while wearing gold rings, silk ascots, and recently polished leather shoes. He could go out knowing he rustled the old man so well that Whitebeard had no choice but to call for his men to chase after Crocodile _again_. Best of all, he could die knowing he left a mark. Crocodile jacked his head up, saw Doflamingo ahead of him, and felt a desperate urge to cry out. He didn’t want to die… He could demand Doflamingo be a man and help him. They’d both die, but then, that was what Doflamingo planned all along. To either be in absolute control, or for them to go out together. Was Doflamingo was demented enough to comply with such an outrageous demand? 

Crocodile blinked, and when he opened his eyes saw that the cars were no longer a mirage in the distance, but less than several seconds away. The entire desert was filled with their scream of the cars. The wind echoed the flags fluttering in the wind; showing off that large, white grin that resembled the powerful drug lord.

Crocodile had to decide quickly. He had to be prepared for the worst. Make a decision. Hurry. Now. _This isn’t a game!_

One choice. Make it now.

 

_Run…or stay?_


	24. The Splitting of a Universe

**-Part 3-**

**-Crocodile-**

There was once something that resembled innocence. When it came down to it, neither Crocodile nor Doflamingo could really go as far as to call it pure childlike innocence, because that never existed between them. Whether it was a result of Doflamingo always being a rotten human being, Crocodile’s innate discontent, a combination of both or neither, was beyond comprehension to either man. The past was another universe set in a fragile galaxy where the construction paper hats crumbled into sand, the grains destined to mix into the vastness of the desert, the exact placement and meaning behind the affectionate performance lost forever.

With only a few seconds left before Crocodile made his final decision, a rush of memories flashed before him. A dosage of emotions quickly followed, some good, not all bad. If there was time to comprehend it all, Crocodile might have picked up that his body wanted him to know joy one last time. He saw the hot, humid afternoon; experienced the effects of too much junk food begin to settle inside of him, and the end of sugar rush compelling his small, tired body to rest. He felt and woke up to Doflamingo offering the hat, his wide grin abundant with pride before it was placed on top of Crocodile’s head. He _was_ a pirate captain. That memory was real and so important that it took its time playing in his mind. That wonderful moment where Crocodile got to wake up and continue playing-pretend and feel good about it. There was the buildup; the annoyance, the lack of fear, and the foolish childhood embarrassment when Doflamingo placed it on his head, but it ended with his hands, small, calloused and dirty, clinging to the soft folded ends of worn paper and secretly desiring that he wasn’t so prideful. It ended with the wish that he could just tell Doflamingo everything, and that they could safely move on and out of the wasteland they called home. 

The memory ended, replaced with new ones that didn’t seem to take up nearly as much time as the previous memory before. And so on. No words surfaced his mind, but Crocodile understood the meaning behind it. That memory was real, but the feelings that coincided with it, the wanting for a better future, that was nothing more than a dream. The memory was a dream and everything after that, no matter how joyous it felt; buying the gun, leaving the city, making a name for himself–none of it compared to the bliss that occurred in that universe so very far away.

Doflamingo was filled with dreams. When did reality begin and end with him, Crocodile wondered. When did the memories blur and twist into something else? When did Doflamingo craft himself out to be the hero of the tale? How was it a man so pragmatically successfully at survival was also so dethatched from reality? It was infuriating, maddening even. Crocodile could feel his mortal body collapse under the impossibility that was Doflamingo.

And yet in his desperation, Crocodile heavily considered taking that very insanity that drove him away from Doflamingo all those years ago, that raw unpredictable energy he once hated, and use it as a tool. And in that same second, right as Crocodile was ready to cast his ride aside and ask for the ultimate favor, Doflamingo cocked is head over. The intent unknown, but the effects were their eyes, two very different stares and states of being, meeting and falling into immediate conflict.

Once his eyes locked with Doflamingo’s he knew, Crocodile just knew he could not trust Doflamingo. The man was too unpredictable, too _dangerous_ to place trust in. In the final battle between life and death, Doflamingo was a wild horse, one that Crocodile could not tame, even for a second. It was difficult to accept, but at that moment Crocodile had no choice but to. It would mean a long run to the car, turning on an engine and slamming on the gas pedal so hard he might destroy the car in the process, but it was easier than placing his life in Doflamingo’s hands.

“Doflamingo,” he mouthed the man’s name under his breath for the last time. Crocodile stood up, and before Doflamingo could register the betrayal, Crocodile raised and pointed his gun at the man, his shaking hand aimed at Doflamingo’s chest, and he pulled the trigger.

 _You’re doing him one hell of a favor_ , he wanted to tell himself, and came close to even thinking it aloud with his inner voice, maybe even mutter it later to Doflamingo’s corpse. The silent thought was drowned beneath the many engines, the sound of his bullet leaving the barrel and plunging deep into Doflamingo’s chest cavity. The white of Doflamingo’s eyes exposed, taking in the pain without completely understanding the origins, and why, but then immediately faded, covered by heavy eyelids and the hands of death. Doflamingo’s hand rose, searching for the pain centered in his chest, but never made it to the source.

Even from his distance Crocodile made out the exact moment death filled Doflamingo’s pupils. The light was out. The muscles ceased to care and the body turned ragdoll. Time moved forward. Doflamingo’s body flopped forward, landing on the ground knees first, followed by the rest of the body crashing and hitting the road. The head fell on its side. Were it not for the incoming vehicles, Crocodile would have heard the heavy _thump_ of the body landing, the head bouncing upon impact. He didn’t, and was grateful for it. It made recovering quicker.

 _So long_. Time moved forward, and dust from the wind rolled and carried the stench of gas exhumes. There was no time to mourn, to think about his actions; Crocodile needed to move fast. Still clenching the gun, he raced to the car. The oncoming cars were only a few seconds away. Memories returned again, this time as hot flashes. Crocodile pushed them away. He vision returned and he saw Doflamingo’s body against the car. Crocodile didn’t slow down. Not for a second. Those were too precious now. He jumped over Doflamingo’s body and climbed into the car, his eyes welling up when he saw everything was where he had left it. He turned the key and restarted the ignition, slammed the ball of his shoe against the gas and drove off.

He immediately hit something. Crocodile winced, knowing that it was probably some part of Doflamingo’s body. Survival of the fittest, he reminded himself. Crocodile gripped the wheel with his good hand, feeling his knuckles burn as he speed past ninety. There was no time to be careful.

No time to mourn. It was nearly over now. Crocodile knew this, but even as he checked the rearview to see the gathering distance between him and Whitebeard’s men, a strange feeling overcame him. It wasn’t quite sad, and it wasn’t relief either. His eyes still on the reflection in the mirror, Crocodile allowed himself a second to fixate on the road behind him, wondering if he might catch a glimpse of the man he left behind for a second time, but only saw his coat landing in the center of the road. 

The final thought arrived, along with it flashes of folded notebook paper coming apart and falling to the ground, left to be consumed by the desert; _our game is over_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Somewhere, perhaps in another universe, a different decision was made.


	25. The End of a World

**-Finale-**

**-Doflamingo-**

In a hot, deserted sea, Doflamingo reflected. A dead man; he had just enough time to collect his thoughts and pour it across the dying sky of his deranged mind until, finally, enough blood had spilled to cease all functions. Like every great man before him, every poor sap, Doflamingo saw everything. Life unfolded in a spastic flash. Every mistake, missed opportunity became blatantly obvious. He saw many failures.

_Shit._

The last thing he recounted was Crocodile pointing the gun at him. With hardly any time to spare, Doflamingo lingered on the final image, on Crocodile’s finger trembling over the trigger, and the maddening, survival driven look in his eyes. As the light faded and his drained, bleeding heart succumbed to the weight of his dying body, Doflamingo pushed the remainder of his conscious on those fearful, angered eyes staring down at him.

Those were the eyes of a dead man, he thought.

_We were going to have everything!_

And Doflamingo ceased to be. The rest of his memories, what thoughts that pieced him together, were lost. All that remained were the thoughts of those involved.

_I had a plan. A swell plan. Everything added up. I had workers lined up. Men and women willing to change the world. A chemist that made white gold. Stupid kids that sold it to an eager market. Friends who wanted to take part in the glory._

Several hundred miles away, Mihawk, the last of his childhood friends, pondered over the last call shared between himself and the young man. Safe in the protected confines of his home, and sharing a strong friendship with a man whose name was whispered enviously in the black market, he had little to worry about whether Doflamingo contacted Crocodile or not. Although the later had made a name for himself, ultimately Crocodile had little influence over Mihawk’s wellbeing. The only reason he kept Doflamingo from making contact was for his own selfish desires. Although they brought out the worse in each other, Crocodile and Doflamingo were a menace together, and they’d be terrible for business. Mihawk didn’t fancy drama of any kind, and should Doflamingo discover the whereabouts of their long-lost companion, only chaos would result. So he kept his mouth shut, and after a series of attempts to call Doflamingo, assumed the worse and continued to remain silent. Doflamingo was as good as dead. In a few months, Mihawk would piece together the events that unfolded, and he’d no longer care or worry about Doflamingo’s actions.

Diamante and Pica were dead. What memories they carried of their dear friend were lost to the winds.

Just outside the city, and heading in the very direction of Doflamingo’s corpse, was Trebol, Gladius and Baby 5. Having lost Whitebeard’s men, they were eager to get out of the city, and as far away as possible. They would stumble upon the bloodied mess shortly after hearing the good news from Vergo.

Back in the United States, some wondered. As walls were being erected, and the safety of its citizens maximized to the extreme, a dozen or so people who bargained their well being for Doflamingo Donquixote were now delving into the shadows, looking for a place to hide and waiting on a call from Vergo. Their fate rested in a single call. They wondered. How long until a man like Kaido would give up the search for a petty drug dealer’s mooks? No one had a concrete idea, but none were willing to take the risk. Though airport security was getting stronger by the day, everyone stood where they were, playing it safe.

What would they all think when they received the call from Japan?

The rest, what few there were left, would notice the silence. Though Doflamingo’s reputation was still only budding, his rivals recognized the potential. Doflamingo was more than just a nutjob, a cocaine addicted ruffian looking to own a few neighborhoods. Though he was without men to call his own, a real establishment that brought with it the finesse of a _true_ dealer, it went without saying that Doflamingo was not to be taken lightly. Had he not been distracted by other things, Doflamingo would have easily brought down all his rivals one by one, expanded his influence and territory across the states, and eventually surpassed Mr. 0 himself. Certainly, that was something worth thinking about, as little as it mattered.

Had Doflamingo focused entirely on his own story, he’d conquer Crocodile again, in a way neither could predict. The name Joker would spread across the States, reach over the ocean and influence European minds. With every passing year, Doflamingo would grow stronger. He’d earn the recognition amongst the Yonko, later the crooked and desperate government. He’d become the devil himself and strike infamous deals. Rumors spread, and they’d reach Mr. 0. Crocodile being Crocodile, he’d be too suspicious to invite Joker into his sanctum, whether it was to join an allegiance, or kill and remove any competition; but Crocodile, like everyone before him would acknowledge Joker as a formidable competition, and find some purpose in trying to outperform him and achieve higher status. They’d never meet again, and only know each other by their selected names, but it was a life with better pursuits.

It could have happened, but, instead, the sun’s heat blared over Doflamingo’s corpse. Whitebeard’s men heard the gunshot and they raced off to chase after Crocodile. All but one car stopped to see the bloodied remains.

The blood cover him and the road dried and browned, gluing itself and Doflamingo to the burning asphalt. The heat produced a thick film over his blank stare, and in less than an hour rigor mortis started to kick in. His parched lips hardened. His eyes grayed. The wind blew dust over him and dirtied his already filthy clothing. In a few more hours, wild dogs passing by would claim his rotting flesh for their next meal. Any cars driving by would mark his body as the product of the cartel, and would ignore it in favor of keeping safe.

No one in this sad, miserable world would know of the events that occurred, nor did they care.

All that was left was Crocodile.

- **Crocodile-**

The last man living, he carried the only proof of Doflamingo ever existing in his fragile and dying mind. Adrenaline rushed, Crocodile was barely aware of the detrimental situation his body was in. Beforehand, he was aware that he was losing blood, that the lightheadedness, nausea and dehydration were symptoms of a greater problem. He went as far as to guess he was dying.

But nature had a way of persevering. In the face of disaster, Crocodile pressed forward, revved the engine and drove onward into the desert, facing the duty front. Behind him was a growing storm, a line of cars quickly catching up with him.

Was it wrong that he hoped some of them might have noticed Doflamingo’s body, stopped to check while buying him time? A few seconds was all he needed.

Nobody stopped for Doflamingo. They knew he wasn’t worth the effort, and that the man of the hour was pushing ninety ahead of them.

He thought he was dying. The pain disappeared again, replaced with yet another adrenaline high, but the thought lingered. It was impossible to think otherwise, with how things were. A wave of cars crashing behind him, maintaining just enough speed to ensure that he was within their sights. They could dive him without the risk of being shot. Crocodile was confident in his skill to maneuver a car with his stump, but at this speed? While shooting? Whitebeard’s men were smart. They knew this was nothing more than a waiting game. The desert was vast, and it was empty. There were few places to hide. Crocodile could go further off road and risk damaging the car, or, _worse_ , slowing down. The tank was depressingly low. It was only a matter of time before he’d run only on fumes.

Death was imminent. The rocky fixtures signaled to him that Spider Café was within his sites, but there was nothing he could do about it. He’d need to get out of the car, run inside, undo the hatch and get under, somehow find the time to lock it– _And for what? They’d easy break through the lock_ –and hope to get far enough ahead in his condition. It was unlikely he’d reach the café in one piece.

He eased on the gas pedal, accepting his defeat. No, he convinced himself this was not submission, but rather him facing Whitebeard head-on. It was better this way. Better to die with a final say, then to die to a stray bullet. And if last time was any indication, Crocodile knew Whitebeard was in one of those cars, waiting the time out. Yes, that certainly the case behind why the cars behind him were maintaining a distance. Crocodile was merely waiting for the tank to run dry. Well, Crocodile wasn’t going to give the old bastard the pleasure of him panicking.

As soon as he dropped to 50, cars started to swarm him.

He remained as dignified as anyone in his position would, perhaps better as he chose not to slam on the breaks, lest he run the risk of causing an accident. No, he’d let the bastard see how well he could handle a shitfest.

He slowed to a break, allowing a sea of dust rain over him. His vision was crushed, drowned under a blanket of sand and roaring engines. Blind, he felt for his hook. He was a bloody mess, but that was hardly an excuse. Crocodile was determined to face Whitebeard in his best. He rubbed the stained hook against the interior, smearing dried blood off from it. He could hear the engines dying down. He stared into the mirror, at his own, appalling reflection.

For the first time in a long while, he longed for some company. Crocodile swallowed a thick, copper-tasting ball of a saliva. The muscles in his legs cramped.

At the far end of the dying cloud storm, a large, white Hummer curled inward, stopping on its side. The front door swung open, and a man rushed out to the backdoor, opening it and inviting his leader outsider. The car shook as a large leg stepped out, and the massive vehicle bobbed more as the rest of the body emerged from its confines. His hand grabbed the top of the car. Whitebeard. A giant in both the figurative and literal sense. Old, but nothing to be taken lightly. Crocodile was only beginning to comprehend poorly he’d tested the man. Another man left the car, went around, and greeted Whitebeard with a cane. He took it, straightened himself out, and began moving toward Crocodile.

The door slammed shut. Crocodile stopped himself from flinching.

Whitebeard lead the charge at his own, leisurely pace. From what Crocodile could tell, he had no weapons on him. Without glancing, Crocodile guessed every other man surrounding him had some kind of firearm. It didn’t matter. Crocodile didn’t bother taking his out.

He waited, taking deep, forced breaths as Whitebeard casually walked to him. When he was just several feet away, at the perfect distance to shoot at with a handheld, he stopped, rested both has hands on his cane, and smiled.

“My, my,” Whitebeard said. His voice boomed, as though the dry winds were carrying it towards Crocodile. “And what have we here?”

He broke into a soft chuckle. Before Crocodile could think of a smart reply, all the men surrounding him erupted into a taunting chorus of snickering. Whitebeard ceased their chatter with a slight nod from his head, but the damage was already done.

“Crocodile,” he stated. “Would you care to answer a few questions for me?”

Crocodile sighed. His lungs ached.  “If you must,” he said.

Whitebeard chuckled again. This was all a game to him.

“You know, Crocodile, I think we can agree the past few days have been particularly odd. Not just for the two of us, but for others involved,” he began. He looked as though he had more to say, but then brought a hand to his chin, made an exaggerated pout, then cracked another distinct smirk. “Let me redact that. Up until about thirty minutes ago, I thoroughly believed this incident involved just your family and mine. With things being so… _personal_ , I gave you a grace period to call your men up, give them time to prepare. I figured you’d either leave together, or die together.”

_Warm soda on a hot day. Going home wasn’t an option right now, and with several hours until sundown, Crocodile decided he’d wander the neighborhood until it was cold enough to bury this week’s plunder. Maybe he’d spot one of the local wimps of the neighborhood, and threaten his way into earning another fifty cents._

_Money, money, money. Everything adds up. One day he’d get a car, then a house for him to live in, and when he had just enough, could do more than just dress up and play pretend and convince and yell and scream and pull hair until they believed everything he said was true._

_Across the street, a little boy in shorts had his head waaay up, looking around at the houses, trees, fences and buildings. Crocodile nursed his can, eyeing this new face. The kid had that look. It told all, that he had no idea where he was. He had nice clothes, too. Crocodile wondered if he had some money on him. But before Crocodile could think up what to do, the boy noticed him, picked himself up, and, much to his surprise, skipped straight across the road to meet him._

_“Hi!” the boy’s bright blue eyes shined up at Crocodile, though they were no match for his impossibly wide grin. “Who’re you?”_

“Forgive me, I’m old and sentimental. Things like this tend to affect me greatly,” Whitebeard continued. He pulled at his long mustache, feigning puzzlement. Crocodile could practically feel the eyes on him, attacking him. He had no choice but to bear with it, and let Whitebeard have his fun. “Let me tell you something, Crocodile: I hate feeling tricked,” Whitebeard said. His smile turned downward into a long, disappointed frown. “Especially from someone so young and ignorant.”

“Perhaps reconsider the latter,” Crocodile mustered up the courage to say. “To be tricked once by me is one thing, but twice?” At any moment, he could get shot, but just thinking about his accomplishment put a smile on Crocodile’s face. “I’m sure you can agree that this is no mere coincidence?”

Was this bargaining? Crocodile wasn’t entirely sure whether it was or wasn’t, if it was a good thing, or making him appear pathetic.

_The boy’s name was Doflamingo. He was weird, an outsider who lived far away. Like every other small kid, he didn’t know a joke when it hit him, and he was easily manipulated. But, unlike the other kids, he believed everything Crocodile said, to such a degree that Crocodile couldn’t bear to hate him. And Doflamingo said he would fight a coyote, and he wanted to see Crocodile’s treasure, so Crocodile took the kid along with him, to the desert, to his secret spot. He showed Doflamingo how to safely climb up gravel, and how to play with your fingers if some sand got caught under the nails, and which bushes had nasty burs in them._

_By the time they reached the treasure mark, Doflamingo’s legs were all red and scratched up. His knees looked pink and wrinkled, and Crocodile guessed they would blister from all the burning. But Doflamingo didn’t cry like other kids, and took the desert’s beating like a real man. Crocodile secretly respected that, and he was eager to see how Doflamingo would react to everything else._

_Crocodile showed him a box full of money, some dollar bills, but mostly quarters, and reveled in the boy’s admiration. He’d never shown anyone how much he saved up until now. Doflamingo made him feel big._

_After showing off his treasure, Crocodile determined Doflamingo was better off sticking around. For now. At least until he got bored of him. Doflamingo was dumb, but he liked the same stuff he did. And he listened. And Doflamingo called him Crocodile, and nobody else did that for him._

_He handed the boy some bus fare, and a little extra. He told Doflamingo how to make his parents regret ever crossing him. “People won’t learn lessons unless you make them hurt really bad,” he said._

_“You think you know?”_

_“More than you,” Crocodile answered._

_They argued over leaving the town. They both wanted to run away. Crocodile liked the kid, but wasn’t going to admit it, not even after Doflamingo promised they would run away at the end of September. Because, as stupid as it sounded when Doflamingo said it, Crocodile wanted it to be real. Real like everything else he set up._

A sour, twisted sneer spread further across Whitebeard’s face. He swung his cane up, nearly losing his balance in the process. One of his men leaned closer to him, in case he needed the support.

Crocodile stared at the base of the cane. He feared it.

“Nearly one hour and twenty minutes ago, I got a collect call from Japan,” Whitebeard said. A horrible pain ran up Crocodile’s stomach, only this time it was not the bullet wound that caused it. “Now, if you’re somehow not aware, Japan hosts a great, powerful man by the name of Kaido. Man’s not my cup of tea, but I went ahead and took the charges to receive such a prestigious call. And do you know what he tells me?”

_No, no, no!_

Crocodile’s jaw dropped at the news. Unhinged and low on blood, he almost lost his balance. He almost fell.  

“Judging by the look on your face, it’s safe to assume you’re somewhat aware of the situation,” Whitebeard said, dropping his cane back down. It hit the earth with a loud thud.

He was shaking now. Crocodile could feel his survival instincts picking back up. Except he had nowhere to go.

He was supposed to face death like a man. What was this?

Could he not escape? From Whitebeard? From Doflamingo?

“You know the old saying, “ _fool me once, shame on you, but fool me twice_?” Whitebeard inquired, reveling in Crocodile’s misery. Yes, this was a goddamn game to him. It was a game, and Whitebeard was ahead by several moves. He was aware of the additional players, and apparently had planned this very moment down to the move. “I wasn’t prepared to learn that you’d stolen product from another dealer–one who made a deal with a fellow Yonko. That’s quite the conundrum, Crocodile.”

A goddamn game! A game of risk, a game of fucking chance, and Crocodile just learned he killed a crucial key player.

Doflamingo. He needed Doflamingo.

Crocodile’s eyes dropped. He stared at the ground, at his blurry, blue shadow. He kept on staring, even as Whitebeard’s footsteps drew near.

“What are you thinking about, Crocodile?” he heard the man say above him.

Crocodile chuckled. He lifted his head up, and met the damn-near ecstatic look of the old bastard in front of him. “Well. What are you waiting for?” Crocodile asked.  

“Kaido wishes to know the location of his newest employee,” Whitebeard said. It pissed Crocodile off. He wanted to smack the man with his hook.

“I shot the fucker,” Crocodile spat. Behind him, several of Whitebeard’s men joked. Crocodile no longer cared. “I ran over his body, too. Pretty sure half your men did as well. If you hurry, you can scrape him off the asphalt before the buzzards get to him!”

Whitebeard sighed, then tsked at him with a short wave of his fingers. Another one of his men laughed. “Shame,” he said to crocodile. “That man could have negotiated your ass out of this mess.”

“You damn well knew he was dead!” Crocodile snapped. His heart raced. He was getting lightheaded.

Above him, Whitebeard grinned. “I did.”

Crocodile growled. “So why lie?”

“Because I can, Crocodile,” Whitebeard loudly proclaimed. Around them, his men hooted and hollered. Whitebeard raised a hand up. “I can do whatever I want, because I earned it. You…I think the only thing you earned is a dog’s death.”

“So fucking do it!” Crocodile yelled. His voice broke through the crude laughter and names, causing several to simmer and listen on to his angered pleas. “Kill me!”

“Not yet. I want to do one last thing, Crocodile,” Whitebeard said. He turned to one of his men, did something with his hand, signaling to leave his spot and return to his car. The rest of his men gathered closer, forming a tightknit audience. A circle. Crocodile watched in silence, feeling his bleeding stomach somehow fill up with bile. The same man from before appeared again, this time holding a giant suitcase. He set it next to Whitebeard.

“Decide, right now. Inside this suitcase is…a weapon. Of sorts.  Will you stand and face me, and take whatever I lay out, like a man?” Whitebeard asked, gesturing to the large suitcase.  “Or will you turn and run, forcing one of my men to shoot you from behind?” His hand splayed out to the many men cheering their leader on. “Let’s make this interesting; you make it out of the circle, and you’re free. What do you say, _boy_?”

A fucking game. Crocodile eyed the suitcase. It was wide and large enough to fit just about anything; a baseball bat, automatic drill, a semi-automatic. Only, Crocodile was aware whatever would be in there wouldn’t kill him right away, otherwise why bring up being shot in the back? The more humiliating death was the quicker option, and the add-on at the end…Whitebeard really wanted him to take it. The old man wanted to prove a point.

Well, Crocodile wasn’t going to give him that pleasure.

“I’m not running,” Crocodile announced, loud enough to earn some boos from Whitebeard’s mean.

Whitebeard calmed his men down, then offered his cane to one of his men. “I’m surprised, Crocodile. It isn’t the answer I was hoping for, but I suppose it’s for the best. Kaido might be pleased, at the very least.”

Crocodile rolled his eyes. “Spare me.”

Whitebeard laughed, then, with some help from one of his men, knelt and opened the suitcase.

The desert heat doubled. Crocodile’s legs buckled as his eyes focused on every move Whitebeard made. Each slow, agonizing flick. His fingers grabbing the zipper. Crocodile wondered what were the chances Whitebeard had a gun in there? Low, but not zero. For all Crocodile knew, this alone was a test. Whitebeard said he was surprised by the choice. He meant for Crocodile to run, to accept a gun to the back. To die face down, surrounded by his enemies.

Crocodile lifted his left arm. He rested his hand upon it, wiping away smears from it while Whitebeard hummed a tune. His swollen thumb grazed over a scratch he had not noticed until now. Crocodile felt it, then lifted his hand to check it, only to see the defeated look of his reflection staring back at him.

_Those small, sticky hands clung to his arm. “I don’t want to go!”_

_He didn’t want Doflamingo to leave, either. Today had been great. The first time in a long while since he had fun. Felt alive._

_Run. Run as fast as you can._

Crocodile blinked, returning to his now-shaking reflection. He groaned. “God, fucking dammit!”

And he ran.

He ran. He ran as fast as he could. He tore away at the dried earth, the heels of his shoes kicking up small clouds of dust. He ran. Around him, laughter broke out. Men were pointing and laughing like children. They taunted and jeered at his display, and Crocodile continued to push himself, to reach the edge of his massive circle of men, and free himself from this hellish nightmare. With each step, his hook loosened, and it started to shake against each recoil. Car alarms went off. Eerie sirens, all echoing at different times and filling the stagnant air with heated dread. There was so much noise, Crocodile couldn’t make out whether someone had shot him or not. If Whitebeard was calling for him or partaking in the joyous occasion. He felt no pain, only the urge to keep going. Keep running and, perhaps, if he was lucky, break through the line of men without getting shot. If he was pathetic enough, or maybe worthy of a third try, he’d be let into the wild, to be allowed to be ultimately free from it all. With the vast, empty space within his sights, Crocodile pummeled forward, determined to break free from Whitebeard’s grasp, from Doflamingo’s chains, and out into something greater. If he just kept on running. If everyone was equally distracted with laughing. If he kept his breathing under control.

_If only_.

**-End-**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I honestly did not expect to finish this. I quit writing fanfictions in favor of developing my own writing, but after receiving a generous amount of comments as of recent, decided to complete this story. Thank you for bothering me. 
> 
> As some of you may have noticed, another version of this story does exist. As soon as I can, I will attend to that version, and complete it. I intend to get to it right away, otherwise it'll be another year before this story concludes. After which, I'll see if I can post the opposite endings as "add-ons." I don't know. 
> 
> I am...shocked at the sudden attention this story received. It always earned attention, but for some reason now, it's picked up again. I cannot guise as to why, but I'm glad it is still catching some positive remarks. 
> 
> Thank you all for reading.


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